


Your Future, My Past, Our Present

by LokiLover89



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bottom Sam, Established Relationship, God bashing, Gunplay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild S&M, Possessive Dean Winchester, Prostitution, Religious Content, Season/Series 06, Slash, Time Travel, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform, spoilers season 1 to 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 154,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiLover89/pseuds/LokiLover89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 6 AU. All they really had was each other. Apart from their relationship, Sam and Dean’s lives were one big mess and, no matter how hard they tried, nothing they did seemed to matter. They were still on the run,  fighting and bleeding for a world that didn’t even know they existed. But everything was about to change: she was hunting the Winchesters and would stop at nothing until she had them. The future of the human race depended on it. (WINCEST)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is our past decisions that make us who we are today. Though we shall never know our future selves, to know if these choices make us better men than we are now, we can only hope that no freak accident of nature should grant us the disservice of knowing what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I don’t own the rights to any of these people, though you know the usual; wish I did.   
> As always your comments are welcome, feedback wanted very much. I hope you like this, it is a work in progress. Thanks again to Ciar who slowly working her way through this to beta it.

Rain poured from the heavens in thick grey sheets, the sky as black and uninviting as the deepest, darkest cavern the world had to offer. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the skyline as the bolts crashed down to Earth; thunder roared as it chased the lightning through the night sky. The strong north wind howled as it blew through the ancient forest, shoving the thick branches aside and stripping the leaves from the bark, whipping them high into the air as it went. 

Amidst the chaos of the storm all else was still and silent. No animals ran through the undergrowth seeking shelter, no adventurous hikers sought a protected spot to wait out the storm for the night. 

The storm raged fierce and all consuming, threatening to rip trees from the ground, roots and all. In a small clearing, miles from any road and any sign of human life, a bolt of lightning struck the muddy ground hard, chunks of earth flying high into the air with the force of the strike. 

Thick, white smoke slithered its way from the impact crater, rising high into the air and snaking its way towards the bright full moon that could only just been seen as the dark grey clouds shifted. A high-pitched whine filled the air, so loud that it would make ears bleed, should someone be unlucky enough to hear it. 

Halting its climb towards the heavens, the white smoke began to swirl into loose circles, slowly pulling itself in tighter, and tighter, until it formed a ball of pulsing, hazy light; hovering six feet off the ground. The air around it shimmered and crackled, distorted by the heat that surrounded the small ball of light. The ground beneath the orb began shaking, mud sliding over rocks and tree roots.

As quickly as it had all started, it stopped. The high-pitched whine faded away, the ground stilling until all that remained in the still raging storm was the glowing orb as it continued to hover unassumingly surrounded by the darkness. 

With one last long pulse, the ball of light exploded outwards in a solid wall of blinding, white light; pushing out through the forest, stretching out for miles before turning back on itself. As it contracted back to where the orb had been, it blinked out of existence, disappearing as though it had never existed. 

A clap of thunder shot through the sky, illuminating the now dark clearing and two lone figures that stood where, until moments ago, the ball of light had been; the figures’ shadows stretched up towards the heavens. 

Gasping for air, the young women collapsed to the ground, her knees sinking into the mud as she doubled over, a shaky hand coming up to clutch at her frantically beating heart. Beside her, her travelling companion glanced down at the woman, a confused look on his boyish face. 

“Come, we don’t have much time,” he said, his rough voice cutting through the deafening noise of the storm as it raged around them. Slowly, he turned away from her, his eyes darting around the small clearing; surveying the area in which they found themselves, looking for something that only he could see. 

Groaning, the young women at his feet slowly pushed herself up, looking down at her mud covered clothes in disgust. “You couldn’t have dropped me off at Disneyland or, I don’t know, somewhere sunny?” she mumbled, as she slung over her shoulder the duffel that had fallen to the ground, forgotten in the agony of them both falling back to earth. 

“Disneyland would have been too open, and it’s night,” he replied, his voice level, indicating his misunderstanding that she had posed a rhetorical question. Starting towards the tree line to the left of them, the man ignored the exasperated eye roll and the small smile that tugged at the young woman’s lips as she quickly turned to follow after him, wiping her muddy hands on her wet jeans as her feet slid on the saturated ground. 

She caught up with him before he could make it more than a few long strides into the thick wood. She laced her fingers through his, tugging him forward, smearing mud over the back of his hand, and marring his perfect skin. The wind whipped her long chestnut hair around her, as she moved, almost dancing through the forest; twisting and turning as if she could see obstacles long before she came upon them. 

Her companion never questioned where they were going, he trusted that she would always lead him in the right direction; she knew that he would always follow her no matter what. Sighing, she turned sharply; pulling him to the left and to what, she hoped, was a road and somewhere she would be able to hitch a decent ride. She hoped for something old, a classic, just like her dad’s had been. 

The man spoke, his voice rough and monotonous. “Your destiny...” he began.

“Bullshit,” she interrupted, yanking her hand free of his tight grasp, pulling away from him and disappearing into the shadows, as she had been taught all those years ago. “I really don’t remember this being part of the deal because I’m damn well sure I wouldn't have agreed to this shit”. 

Frowning at the spot she into which she had disappeared, the man stopped, seemingly unbothered by the rain as it soaked into his already dark hair, running off his trench coat and dripping to the muddy ground. He felt confused by the anger in her voice. They had been over this a thousand times before, he had been sure she had understood why this needed to be done, why they needed her to do it.

“You must do this. If you don’t, then there will be no hope…for any of us,” he said. His voice soft, calming even. A rarity, she knew, when it came to him. His voice curled around her, soothing the panic she had begun to feel welling up inside of her. Despite his lack of humanity, he never failed to act the right way when it truly mattered, each rare occasion made her love for the older man grow that little bit more, each and every time. 

He felt her presence before he saw her delicate frame slipping from the shadows to lean casually against a tree, just out of arm’s reach, as if she did this sort of thing every day, as if it was normal for her and, he supposed, in a way it was. 

Sighing, she looked at him with wide green eyes, silently judging him, weighing up her options. Her penetrating gaze never failed to make his skin itch, as if he could actually feel her hands on him. In those moments, he almost felt like caving in to all her suggestive comments and heated looks, through he would never admit it. His rules and boundaries were there for a reason, no matter how much it hurt to know that she would never truly be his.

“It’s a good job God made your vessel pretty,” she quipped, as she offered him her hand and jerked her head in the direction they had been heading, a sweet smile pulling up the corners of her full lips. With every step he took towards her, her green eyes darkened until they were as black as the night sky, her eye sockets becoming bottomless black pits of nothingness. “Come on,” she said, “they’re just a couple of miles up the road; I can feel the damn tension already.”

Smiling, he laced his fingers through hers, pulling her slim body tight against his, and noticing the way she clung to him. Their bodies slotted together like well-used puzzle pieces. 

Slowly, they moved apart and began to make their way through the forest again, never once letting go of one another, always touching in some way. They both knew the risks of being here, both knew what failing meant but, like most things in their lives, it needed to be done and it was down to them to fix things. 

After what felt like days, but in reality was only a few hours, they stumbled out onto the side of an old-looking road that stretched on in both directions, disappearing into the trees. Gently slipping his hand from hers, the man turned to face his young travelling companion, gazing down at her with determination in his eyes. 

“This is where I leave you,” he said. “It is up to you now.” 

Sighing, she ran a shaky hand through her dripping hair, shoving it out of her face. “Jeez, no pressure then,” she huffed, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, she turned to look north, her black eyes seeing easily through the rain and trees, zeroing in on the faint pulse of the one thing for which she was willing to risk everything, including the small shred of happiness for which she had fought so hard and risked so much to protect. 

She hoped she could do this. She knew she didn’t really have that much of a choice in the matter but that wasn’t important, not now anyway. She had been training for this moment her whole life, ever since she had started dreaming of a time that was not hers. Given how they both lived, it shouldn’t seem like such an impossible task he was asking of her, yet the idea of him abandoning her in an alien place, after having his presence as the one constant in her life for the last twenty years, made her want to wrap her arms around him and dig her nails in, refusing to ever let go. 

Sensing her apprehension, the man in front of her quickly sought to ease her troubled mind. Gently, he placed his hand under her chin, using the slightest pressure to turn her head back to face him. As their gazes met, the blackness of her eyes started to recede until they were once again a deep, emerald green.

She seemed so lost and scared as she looked up at him, waiting for him to brush all her troubles aside. She looked so much like the little girl he had first met, all those years ago, standing in the doorway of the place she called home; watching her terrified parents pack up everything that they thought a necessity before they disappeared into the night, leaving him to watch over their most precious possession. 

Just like that heartbreaking night, the man pulled her into his arms and wrapped her in a tight embrace. However, this time he didn’t promise that everything would be fine because he knew it was something he would never be able to guarantee, not with everything that had happened and could still happen. It was all down to her whether or not they made it back and whether or not the place to which they returned was the home it had once been or whether it would continue to be the barren wasteland it now was. It was her job to save them, even if she didn’t want it to be. As much as she tried to fight it, it had to be her, always. 

Sighing, she sucked in a deep breath to surround herself with his scent, as she savoured the feel of his body against hers, knowing that, once she left, she would never experience this again, unless she completed her seemingly hopeless task.

Pulling back just enough so she could take one last look at the man in front of her, she tried her best to act as normal as she could. She flashed him her most seductive smile, the one that always managed to get her what she wanted, whether she was asking for a kiss or your soul. The one he always told her off for using on the young men at church. 

Frowning disapprovingly down at her, her companion shook his head slightly in disbelief, though he could feel his heart swelling with gratitude at the small mercy she was offering him. He was glad that the last thing he would see of her would be her smiling face, her green eyes sparkling with the mix of lust, love, and mischief that he was so used to seeing, because if she failed this would be the last moment he ever had with her; his last chance to tell her.

Leaning forward, the man sealed his lips over hers in a chaste kiss, his hand slipped from under her chin to cup her cheek in a tender gesture of love that he had seen his brother make a thousand times before and which had always left her smiling so sweetly. 

Her lips were soft and moved with a well-practiced ease against his clumsy and inexperienced ones, something that both gladdened and disappointed him. Kissing her was something he had imagined doing for so long but had always denied himself. However, now that he had her for only a few moments more, and could feel her hot breath on his lips, he understood why humans were always striving for physical connection; why it meant so much to them to feel someone else’s arms surrounding them. 

Pushing his lips a little harder against hers, he wished they could stay this way a little longer. He wished that this was the only moment that mattered in the world and that this wasn't their first kiss and their last kiss goodbye all rolled into one.

But, all too quickly, she was pulling away from him as the sound of a car engine reached their ears, cutting through the noise of the rain. Reluctantly, he let his hand fall from her cheek and took a step back into the shadow of the woods just as she stepped away, out onto the road, to get the driver’s attention.

Her companion already missed the heat that had radiated from her body and seeped into his, soothing the guilt and self-hatred that tainted his thoughts and made him second-guess every decision. 

Neither of them said a word but they held each other’s gaze, saying their goodbyes in the only way they had ever known. Everything that had gone unspoken between them over the years hung in the air, threatening to break from whoever proved to be weakest first.

The car’s tyres screeched on the wet surface of the road as the driver hit the brakes, desperately trying to avoid hitting the young women who had stepped out into the middle of the road. Her hidden companion watched with a mixture of pride and guilt as the young women slipped into character as effortlessly as she breathed, spouting apologies and excuses. He had made her that way. 

The young driver leaned across the passenger seat to get a better look at the rain-saturated woman. Leaning against the car’s door, she fed him a false story, telling him that she had been hiking when the storm hit, that she had gotten lost and just needed a ride to the nearest motel. The driver didn’t seem to notice she was wearing cowboy boots or that she looked like she had just stumbled out of a rock concert, his eyes were firmly rooted to her chest.

The young man nodded eagerly, pulling on the door’s handle so that it swung open, creaking slightly. Thanking him, she flashed him her most charming smile - the smile that never failed to make all the boys bend to her will, her travelling companion included - before she slipped into the passenger seat slamming the door behind her. As quickly as the car had come round one corner it was speeding off around the next, disappearing from sight. And, just like that, she was gone. 

One step closer to her destiny and already more than a hundred away from him because it didn’t matter if she was successful, or if she failed, for she would be changing the future one way or another and there was no guarantee she would be going home to him, at least not the version of him she had spent her life with anyway. That is, if she made it home at all. 

The man knew well what happened to people who got too close to the Winchesters. It was possible to count on one hand the number of people who had survived to tell the tale and, thanks to magic or post-traumatic stress, only half of them could even remember ever meeting the Winchesters in the first place. And here he stood, having just sent the one person he cared for, more than life itself, to get as close to them as possible. 

Turning his back on the long stretch of road, he began the long trek back into the woods, truly alone for the first time in years. His heart sank with every step he took, loss and regret weighing heavy within his very core. He really should have told her that he loved her, now she would never know.


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Dean wants is a little relief but Cas has other plans that come in the form of an unidentified monster that just ripped a hole through time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: again don’t own a thing. Hope you like this one got some smut in it though bad Cas doesn’t know how to knock. As always your comments are much appreciated. Hope you are all having a lovely day. Thanks again to Ciar who is working through this to beta it.  
> All the best love me.  
> xoxo

Slamming the motel room door, Dean flung his duffel onto the bed nearest the door, and shrugged off his wet jacket. A dark puddle of filthy water was already forming on the cheap carpet where he stood, turning the puke green a deeper darker shade of vomit.

Dean hated nights like this. Bad weather always made hunts that much harder and made him regret leaving his baby out in the open. His tired mind toyed with visions of waking up and finding the Impala gone; lifted up and carried away by the strong winds outside, only to be found three towns over and sticking out from the side of a barn. Dean shook his head to shake off both rain and unpleasant mental images.

‘Sammy?’ Dean hollered, as he began to remove his sodden clothes, stripping off his shirts and struggling to peel the wet cotton from his damp skin before starting on the unpleasantness involved in pulling off soaking wet jeans. His numb fingers fumbled with the wet and muddy material, hopping from one foot to the other as he tried to yank the denim off over his boots.

‘Hey, man. What’s u...ugh, Dean…really?’ Poking his head around the side of the bathroom door, Sam made a face of disgust at the sight of his half-naked brother hopping around, dripping blood and dirty water on the carpet, as he stumbled around, yanking at the frayed ends of his jeans. ‘Really? You couldn’t wait till you got in the bathroom?’ Sam asked; his voice strained. ‘At least take your damn boots off before you try pulling off your jeans, Dean, ‘ Sam added, exasperated with his brother’s antics.

Flashing his younger brother his biggest, cheesiest grin, Dean let out a cry of triumph as he managed to yank his left foot free of his pants’ leg, wincing slightly as the denim rubbed over the gash on his ankle, given to him when the ghost they had been hunting had managed to strike back before being sent, screaming and struggling, to its rest.

‘Dude, it’s pissing buckets out there,’ Dean shot back at Sam, ‘but, hey, if you’d rather I track mud all over the place I’ll remember that for next time. Now, get your girly ass out the bathroom so I can have a shower.’

Dean’s wet jeans hit the floor with a loud thud as he finally managed to pull them free of his damp skin. He hated wet denim; it was heavy and clung to you wherever it could. Over the years, he had spent more nights clawing this stuff off his own body than he had peeling off someone else’s clothes and that was just a depressing thought. Though, he supposed he should count himself lucky that it was just muddy water and a little bit of blood; he had been covered in a lot worse before, and some of it more recently than he would have liked.

Glaring down at his mud-covered boots, Dean wished he could just will them off. He really didn’t have the energy to be bending down and fiddling with laces. His fingers were numb, his mind and body already slowing down and heading towards sleep after expending so much energy trying to avoid severe injury at the hands of an angry ghost. All he wanted was a hot shower, and to sleep for at least twenty hours, and then pie, lots and lots of the nearest pie he could get his hands on.

Sighing, Dean leaned back against the motel room door, the cold wood making his already cool skin tingle, his damp boxer shorts clinging to him like a second skin. An exasperated sigh pulled him from his thoughts and Dean’s head lifted, remembering that he wasn’t alone and irritated with himself that he had forgotten Sam was watching him. Dean always tried, as best he could, to hide exhaustion and pain from Sam’s much too perceptive gaze. The habit had started when they were children and Sam became distraught when his big brother was hurt. Over the years, the act had become as much a part of Dean’s behaviour as breathing: something he did without thinking about it.

Mentally pulling himself together, Dean made a grin spread across his face as he watched Sam close the bathroom door and begin to walk towards him across the small room. Dean knew from Sam’s body language, what that meant, knew from Sam’s intense expression what his younger brother had in mind and, despite Dean’s wet and tired state, he could get on board with that. Hell, parts of him were already beginning to perk up with interest. Sometimes, the joy of still being alive, and relatively unhurt, after a hunt made the brothers want to revel in that fact. And, more often than not these days, those strong feelings got expressed physically. Of course, Sam still liked to try and get Dean to talk about his feelings but Dean was getting better at distracting Sam from talking and, instead, getting Sam to express those feelings with his body (and Dean’s).

Sam moved with a grace that was unusual for a man of his height but for a Winchester it was second nature. Dean smiled as the idea of Sam slinking like a large cat popped into his mind. Sam’s eyes never left Dean’s, holding his gaze and, despite the trust he had in his brother, Dean couldn’t help but almost feel that somehow, in the last few seconds, he had gone from being a hunter to being the thing that was hunted. Sam smiled lazily at Dean; his eyes darkening as he reached his brother, standing close but without touching, his hot breath fanning over the still cool skin of Dean’s cheek. Dean’s felt warmth begin to spread through his chest as he pulled in a deep, shaky breath, his eyes never leaving Sam’s as the younger man sank to his knees slowly, only just missing the dampness in the patch of carpet on which Dean was standing.

The brothers held eye contact as Sam’s warm fingers wrapped around Dean’s right ankle, pulling gently until Dean raised his foot slightly, bending his knee. Sam’s fingers deftly untied the knots and loosened the laces to allow him to gently tug the mud-covered boot free of Dean’s foot. Dean’s damp sock quickly following, as Sam yanked it off. 

Dean licked at his suddenly dry lips, his body humming with anticipation. With them both working hard to gank the angry spirit, it had been a good few days since he had had Sam in any way other that a quick kiss here and there, or a prolonged cuddle in the mornings when he woke up wrapped around Sam’s body; pretending to still be asleep so he could have that physical contact for just that little bit longer.

Despite the shiver running through his chilled body, Dean could feel his skin heating up, reacting to Sam’s proximity and what it promised, his half hard cock tenting the damp fabric of his boxers. Sam’s smile turned into a smirk as he leaned forward slightly so he could reach Dean’s other foot, his hot breath fanning over his older brother’s crotch, making Dean’s cock twitch at the still not quite familiar sensation of such intimate touches from his baby brother.

Groaning, Dean’s head fell back against the door with a dull thud, his blunt nails scratching at the cheap plywood. Taking a deep breath, Dean tipped his head forward and gazed down at his younger brother. He considered just shoving Sam to the ground and stripping off his brother’s clothes so he could have his wicked way with him, hard and fast on the motel room floor, or, seeing as he was feeling tired and in need of comfort, he could bite his lip and just let Sam continue this slow torture, building up Dean’s excitement until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Hissing, Dean arched off the door slightly as Sam’s fingers touched lightly along the cut on his ankle. The slight pain adding a little something more to Dean’s pleasure that he was sure he had never told Sam about in the few short months they had been doing this but, like always, his little brother had managed to find out about all on his own.

Dean’s boot hit the far wall with a dull thump as Sam threw it over his shoulder. His rough hand curled around Dean’s ankle and slid up over the damp skin, his fingertips tickled the skin at the back of Dean’s knee as his hand made its way higher towards the edge of his brother’s wet boxers. Dean clenched his jaw, and groaned deeply, as Sam’s short nails scratched gently at his thigh; Sam’s fingers wiggled against the damp cotton, pushing it up until his hand could slide underneath the wet material. A chant of ‘yes’ and ‘more’ rang in Dean’s head as he silently begged Sam not to stop.

Dean’s eyes closed, he was vaguely aware that Sam was laughing gently - and Dean knew that he had just lost some sort of game to his brother, one he hadn’t even been aware they were playing - but as Sam’s other hand started to mirror its partner’s action on Dean’s other leg, Dean couldn’t bring himself to care. Dean began to lose himself in the sensation of Sam’s hands on him, around him. Sam’s hot hands caressed his brother’s cool flesh and Sam’s thumbs rubbed slow, teasing circles into the tense muscles of Dean’s upper thighs, tantalisingly close to where Dean most craved his brother’s touch.

Moaning, Dean slowly opened his eyes to look hungrily down at his younger brother, the sight that greeted him made his quickly beating heart race even faster. Sam’s cheeks were flushed, his lips were plump, and glistening with spit, just begging to be kissed, sucked into Dean’s mouth and nibbled on, Sam’s hazel eyes were hooded, his pupils wide with lust. Sam looked absolutely wanton and Dean wanted to sink to his knees, amongst the dirt and filth of their lives, and make his Sammy call out until his throat was raw and his body spent, until he too exhausted to even pull himself onto the bed to bask in the afterglow.

Sam’s tongue poked slowly out from between his lips, slicking them with saliva before darting back inside his tempting mouth. Dean was strongly tempted to dive forward and follow it, shoving his own tongue past Sam’s lips and into the familiar warmth of his brother’s mouth, sucking on Sam’s tongue until he made the sound Dean loved, the one that was somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and that never failed to make Dean even more hungry for the younger man.

Growing increasingly unable to tolerate the slow, torturous pace that his brother was setting, and as his desperation for more grew, Dean growled and shoved a hand into Sam’s long, soft hair, grabbing and pulling; yanking Sam up and in, until his face was just inches away from Dean’s achingly hard dick.

Sam’s initial hiss of pain transformed into a groan of pleasure as the tip of his nose brushed against the outline of his brother’s cock; the inescapable evidence of Dean’s desire. The force of Dean pulling on his hair made Sam’s grip on Dean’s thighs tighten to keep his body from slamming into his older brother’s legs.

‘Sammy…oh, fuck…’ Sam’s name fell from Dean’s lips sounding somewhere between a plea and a warning all at once, Dean’s hips pushed against Sam’s iron grip, desperate to bridge the small gap and finally feel his brother’s soft lips wrapped around him as he sank into that tight, wet heat.

Dean tightened his grip in Sam’s hair, even though he knew that it had to be hurting by now, and that Sam would make him pay for it later but, as Sam finally moved his hands to curl his fingers around the waistband of Dean’s boxers, Dean found himself unable to care. He would deal with any consequences later and, he was pretty sure, ten seconds from now whatever consequences happened would be worth it because Sam had one hell of a talented mouth, all those years of learning Latin good for something other than yanking demons.

‘Good, you’re both awake.’

Quicker than you could say ‘hell, no’ Sam’s hands were gone, they yanked free of Dean’s boxers as Sam spun round at the sound of the intruder, his hands dropping to the back of his jeans, to pull his gun free, as he turned to face the threat.

Just as quickly, Dean jerked his hand out of Sam’s hair, reaching instinctively up to the small of his back, where his gun had been just a few minutes ago, only to remember that he had shoved the gun into his duffel once they had made it back to the motel.

Sam’s chagrined laughter pulled Dean back from his momentary lapse of awareness, kicking himself for being so stupid, just in time to see Sam slip his gun back into his waistband and push up onto his feet, the muscles in his legs straining with the effort.

Tired and confused as to what the hell was going on, Dean looked up from where his brothers’ head had just been and towards where their unexpected visitor now stood, in front of the closed bathroom door. Confusion instantly gave way to resentment as his eyes landed on the trench coat-wearing, implacably, serious angel that had once again managed to cock-block him. Whether it was intentional or not had yet to be seen.

Glaring at the angel, Dean shoved himself away from the motel room door and headed towards the bathroom. Dean made a point of ignoring Castiel and squeezing roughly past the angel’s sombre-looking vessel, making his way into the bathroom, ever hopeful that today would be the day that the unsmiling angel would learn something about human manners and would blink back out of the motel room so that Dean could drag Sam into the shower with him and damn well finish what Sam had started.

Unfortunately, it seemed that no one had sent Sam the memo because the next thing Dean heard was the ever-helpful puppy, that was Sam, sinking down onto the edge of the bed, closest to the door, and asking, ‘What’s up, Cas?’ Dean could tell from his brother’s tone of voice that Sam’s full attention was now focused on the angel.

Groaning, Dean’s grip on the bathroom door tightened, as he contemplated just getting in the shower and pretending the other room didn’t exist. Yes, by taking a shower, Dean might be risking a glare or two, and the cold shoulder, from Sam, for failing to jump to attention when Castiel called. Then again, Dean definitely wouldn’t be getting any tonight or tomorrow, maybe not even for a few more days, because the angel more than likely had a job for them. Sam was way too earnest lately about paying attention to the needs of others when trouble reared its head - probably because he felt guilty about the way he had treated people when he had been wandering around topside without a soul - and Castiel wouldn’t be offended anyway if Dean ignored him, so why did it matter? In the end, it mattered because Dean could never bring himself to not care if there was a chance that the rest of the world, or more importantly Sam, might be in danger.

Dean shoved himself away from the bathroom door, walked briskly across the room, and threw himself face down on the unoccupied bed, his need to make sure that nothing nasty was coming after them, to threaten Sam, outweighing his need to be anywhere else but in Castiel’s presence at the moment.

‘I need your help, Dean.’ Castiel's rough, monotone voice echoed around the room.

‘Course you do,’ Dean mumbled, as he turned his head to stare at his brother. Sam shot him a warning glare before turning his attention back to Cas.

Sighing, Dean turned his head further into the pillow, drinking in the smell of Sam: earth and sweat and books, and something that Dean could only describe as pure Sam. Smiling mischievously to himself, Dean shoved his right hand under his body, watching through half-closed eyes as Sam’s gaze flickered in his direction as Dean’s movement caught Sam’s eye.

Dean knew it wasn’t his most sensible decision to be doing this in the angel’s presence but, right at that moment, Dean was tired, hurt, resentful for being considered as ‘on duty’ 24/7 for the last number of months, angry at Castiel’s lack of consideration, and still so damned horny he really couldn’t bring himself to care. And, anyway, it was Castiel’s own fault if he saw something that he didn’t approve of; the angel shouldn’t just pop in on people like he did because, one day, Dean and Sam were going to be doing something a lot worse than what they had almost been doing, and Dean really didn’t think that Cas wanted to see his naked ass.

‘Something has ripped a hole through time,’ Castiel stated, baldly. The angel’s normal voice was always sombre but, currently, he sounded as serious as the grave.

Dean’s head shot up off the bed as soon as Castiel stopped speaking; his previous idea, for teaching their heavenly gatecrasher some manners, instantly chased away by what the angel had said. ‘I’m up,’ Dean announced, pushing himself up and round till he was sitting on the end of the bed, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees almost mirroring Sam exactly.

‘How is that even possible?’ Sam asked, staring intently at the angel; disbelief and confusion evident in his voice. Sam’s forehead creased as he tried to think of all the creatures, monsters, gods, and mythical entities that he knew of with enough power to even remotely pull this kind of thing off.

Moving to stand at the bottom of the gap between the beds, Castiel flickered his stern gaze between the brothers. A small flash of something, that might possibly be described as discomfort, lighting his blue eyes, briefly, as they quickly moved over Dean’s mostly-naked and still slightly aroused form.

‘I do not know,’ the angel replied, shades of vexation in his voice. ‘The amount of power it would take to work a spell like that is unheard of.’

Dean shot Sam a worried glance before rolling his shoulders and fixing Castiel with his best ‘ _you better be telling me the whole truth or I will break your face’_ look. Dean took a deep breath before speaking, ‘You mean to say that something just ripped a _hole_ through time and you don’t have a clue what it is. How is that even possible?’ Dean’s voice came out much harsher than he intended, his anger and annoyance getting the better of him, but the only person it seemed to bother was Sam.

Twisting his upper body round, Sam levelled a hard stare at Dean, raising an eyebrow at him expectantly.

‘What?’ Dean mumbled, sheepishly, knowing Sam probably expected him to apologize to the angel, for the tone of his outburst, but refusing to on principal.

Dean watched Sam roll his eyes and sigh in frustration before turning his attention back to Cas, ready to question the angel on whatever new threat that the universe was throwing their way. ‘What do you need?’ Sam asked, already sounding 100% committed to doing whatever was required of him.

Dean had to fight the urge to groan at Sam’s well-intended question. He knew that Sam was still hung up on making amends for _'causing the apocalypse and setting the devil loose on the world_ ' but Dean was surprised Sam hadn’t figured out yet that saying something like that to Castiel was going to end up with them being dumped into a big barrel of heavenly crap.

Before Castiel could even answer, Dean was pushing himself off the bed and hauling his tired body across the room to the small kitchenette table and the duffel that held all his clothes.

‘I need you to go to the impact site,’ Castiel pronounced.

‘Impact? This thing _impacted_ with the Earth?’ Dean turned as the angel said the word ‘impact’, eyes wide, a clean pair of jeans clutched tightly in his hands. ‘Are we talking like asteroid-type impact? With craters and dust clouds?‘ he asked, his face showing his concern, his eyes darting to look at his younger brother.

Sam’s hand shot up to rub at his tired eyes before slipping up to push his hair back. He looked as worried as Dean felt. Something that could just rip through time, like a kid tearing through wrapping paper to get at the present inside, wasn’t going to be your standard demon. This would take time, effort, and research, lots of it and for Cas to be asking for their help, it had to be bad. 

‘I don’t know, Dean, that’s why you need to travel to the location,’ Castiel replied.

‘Better put clean pants on then,’ Dean quipped, with gallows humour, before grabbing a shirt out of the bag and heading towards the bathroom, deciding to change in there to spare the angel any latent potential for blushes, just this once more. Not that Dean was even remotely hard any more.

Castiel had obviously decided that further explanation was no longer required because he stood in place, without further comment,  while Dean walked past him towards the bathroom. Dean heard the bed groan, as Sam stood up, but chose to ignore it, knowing that his brother was getting up to repack the duffel that had been abandoned on the bed behind him, making sure that whatever Sam thought they might need for the night ahead of them was at the top, for easy access in an emergency.

As Dean hand curled around the bathroom door handle he stiffened, not expecting to feel Sam’s large, hot, hand wrapping around his wrist, Sam’s hard chest pressing tight against his back as Sam crowded into Dean’s personal space. Irritation pulsed inside of him, pushing against his skin at the thought that he hadn’t heard Sam coming up behind him, hadn’t known Sam was there until his brother touched him.

‘I don’t care if the world is about to explode,’ Sam murmured quietly, mouth close to Dean’s ear, his breath hot on Dean’s neck, ‘next time he just decides to pop in, I’m not going to stop.’ Sam’s voice was deep and rough, nothing more than a whisper as he pushed his crotch firmly against Dean’s ass, Sam’s half-hard dick straining against the tight confines of his jeans.

Closing his eyes tightly, Dean had to fight the urge to demand that Sam carry on with it now, angel and time-jumping _thing_ be damned but, before he could get the words out, Sam was pressing a quick kiss to the sensitive skin behind Dean’s right ear before letting go of Dean and walking away just as quickly and silently as he had appeared.

Dean stood frozen in place for a few seconds, his mind not processing anything past the sensations Sam had caused in his body and now, before everything caught up with him, reality crashed in on him like a wave of cold water. Growling low in his throat, knowing that Sam was bound to hear his frustration, Dean yanked the door open and slipped inside the dark bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Leaning back against the cold wooden door, Dean looked down at his re-tented boxers and his throbbing dick that was demanding attention, preferably Sam’s. Closing his eyes, Dean took a deep breath and shoved his hand down his boxers, wrapping his fingers around the hot, hard flesh, a satisfied hiss of pleasure escaping from between his lips at the first rough jerk of his hand. Dean knew they didn’t have long before they had to leave, the lack of time to indulge himself making him twist his wrist on the firm, upward stroke. Dean gasped at the sensation and let his mind wander to helpful memories, remembering how Sam felt around him. How Sam liked to push his hard body against Dean’s side, filling his brother’s personal space and only just giving Dean enough room to breathe. His face so close that the only thing Dean could see was Sam’s hazel eyes staring at him, intently, filled with a hunger that made Dean’s skin tingle and his heart swell.

Dean groaned, as he remembered the feeling of his brother’s passionate touches, and his head fell back, hitting the door, his back arching away from the wood as he tightened his grip a fraction more. He hated that it wasn’t Sam’s hand wrapped around him, hated that as soon as Castiel had appeared he was the one who had all Sam’s attention, particularly hated it because the angel was fucking incapable of appreciating how fortunate he was to be the focus of any of Sam’s interest, really hated that he was jealous of an asexual angel of God just because he was with Sam right now while Dean wasn’t.

Biting his lip hard enough to break the skin, Dean deliberately banged his head against the door, reminding the two men in the other room that, although Dean was out of sight, he damned well better not be out of mind, especially not Sam’s mind. His head throbbed a little, the back of his skull having taken more abuse over the last day then it had in over a month.

Moving his hand faster across his length, jerking his hips and pushing his ass against the firm pressure of the door behind him, chasing the wave of bliss that accompanied the blinding white heat of a truly satisfying orgasm, Dean hoped the last few minutes in Castiel’s Sam-distracting, cock-blocking presence were not a sign of what the next few days was going to be like, because Dean wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to last the week if it was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time they reached the clearing to which Castiel had directed them, the stormy weather had mostly cleared. The rain was nothing more than a persistent drizzle now and the wind had died down to a gently gusting breeze. The ground around them resembled more of a swamp than an actual forest floor, and, every so often, Dean cussed under his breath as his feet slipped and slid when he tried to step over fallen branches and exposed roots and, on one occasion, something that looked suspiciously like the remains of a human leg. 

Finally stumbling into the clearing, Dean sighed in relief, rubbing his dirty hands over the thighs of his jeans in a pathetic attempt to try and get some of the mud off. ‘Oh, thank God,’ he gasped. Dean was a fit man but the muscles in his legs burned, he and Sam had spent the last three hours traipsing through the densely packed woods because of Dean’s refusal to fly in any way, shape or form, angelic blipping from place to place included, and in all honesty he was starting to regret declining Castiel’s offer to drop them here before the angel disappeared to try and follow whatever trail the unidentified being was leaving behind. Not that Dean would admit his change of heart to Sam.

The relief Dean had been feeling, at finally being free of the oppressive closeness of the surrounding trees, quickly left him as his searching eyes landed on the crater in the middle of the clearing, The hole was more than big enough for Sam to lay down in comfortably and then have a little extra, to spread out and roll around in, to boot. 

‘Cas wasn’t kidding when he said impact site,’ Dean remarked. He didn’t know whether to be more scared or amazed as he stared at the big hole in the earth. Slowly, the brothers started to walk around the crater; by unspoken agreement, both heading in the opposite direction to cover distance more quickly. Dean’s eyes darted over the impact hole, looking for any sign that something had been there and left some spoor that they could use to track it, whatever _it_ was. But the rain had been heavy and the sides of the crater were nothing more than smooth, slick slopes of mud. No evidence left to show that anyone, or anything, had been there for days, let alone in the last few hours.

He was just about to yell at Sam that they were wasting their time, when the younger man called out Dean’s name, beckoning him over to where Sam was crouched down, balancing on the edge of the crater. In a few quick strides, Dean was sinking down next to him, his knee bumping against Sam’s in the process.

‘Is it me or does that look like a hand print?’ Sam asked, as he waved a hand vaguely towards a large rock that was jutting out of the side of the crater, turning his head to raise an eyebrow expectantly at Dean. Leaning forward slightly, Dean grabbed Sam’s thigh with one hand to keep his balance as the other shot out to gently run his fingers over the face of the rock.

Dean’s fingers slipped into the grooves, following the dips until his hand was pushed flat against the stone. His own hand didn’t fit perfectly into the mark, which seemed to have been burned into the rock. Dean’s fingers were longer and slightly fatter, his hand in general just bigger but there was no mistaking that the mark was a hand print and, as far as Dean could tell, a human one at that.

Pulling back, Dean pushed himself up, using Sam’s thigh for leverage. Offering Sam his hand, he pulled him up, his fingers absent-mindedly caressing the soft skin of Sam’s wrist before he pulled his hand free. ‘It looks like a hand melted through the rock,’ Dean said, his voice conveying his sense of puzzlement.

As Dean spoke, Sam moved back, further away from the crater as if he was afraid he would fall in or that something would jump out, and grab him, if he stayed too close.

Dean’s shoulder tingled, as his gaze strayed back to the rock and the seemingly harmless handprint. The scar on Dean’s shoulder reminding him of something he couldn’t believe he had forgotten. ‘Could...could it have been an angel?’ Dean chose to ignore the small hitch in his voice, as he spoke, not wanting to think about what it could mean if yet another angel had decided to slip back in time and fuck around with their past.

Dean could understand if it had happened a few months ago: before he had driven to Lawrence to try and stop Sam from saying yes to Lucifer; before Sam had sacrificed himself, jumping into the cage, dragging Michael and Lucifer with him; before they had stopped the angels’ precious apocalypse. Before this, whatever it was they had with each other, that had brought them closer then ever, but now? Now, there was nothing for the angels to screw around with. Well, nothing that Dean knew about any way.

‘No.’

Sam’s short reply pulled Dean from his unpleasant musing and, despite the small shudder of relief that shot through him, Dean found himself getting annoyed at Sam’s quick dismissal of his idea. Turning around to face his brother, Dean squared his shoulders and looked at the younger man. ‘No? That’s it? Just no?’ he asked. ‘No explanation, just gonna shoot me right down. Huh, Sammy?’

‘Dean.’ Sam’s voice was tired and exasperated, his facial expression pleading for Dean to be reasonable, which only managed to irritate Dean that little bit more. With a huff of annoyance, Dean turned away from his brother and walked back around the edge of the crater, to stand and glare into its depths. Childish, he knew but, if Sam wanted to act like a little bitch than he was damned well going to act like a spoilt brat.

Strong arms wrapped around Dean’s waist, pulling him against Sam’s warm chest, as Sam rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder. Dean tensed, refusing to give Sam even the slightest hint that just having him this close was making it hard for Dean to stay mad at him, when all Dean wanted was to sink back into the warmth of his brother’s embrace, content to stay there and bask in the love that Sam so freely offered him, even after all the shit they had put each other through over the last number of years.

‘Cas said that the spell used was old magic,’ Sam explained. ‘I mean old, old magic. No angel in their right mind would touch it, knowing what it would cost. Cas said that whoever cast it would have had to drain a town the size of Riley of its energy, life force, souls, whatever it is that the spell requires to power it. Not to mention the extreme act of violence, the blood sacrifice, and even then they’d risk destroying their own grace. I don’t think an angel could work this kind of magic even if they wanted to.’

As Sam spoke, Dean relaxed back into him, letting his head fall back against Sam’s shoulder, letting his brother’s calm voice wash over him. ‘Oh yeah? And when did Cas tell you all that?’ Dean mumbled, feeling tired after the stress of the last few days and the effort of walking here through the forest, all anger forgotten as Sam’s hands rubbed small soothing circles onto his stomach, Sam’s fingertips running teasingly against the waistband of Dean’s jeans.

Sam’s gentle laughter floated past Dean’s ear, ruffling his hair. His lips gently brushing against Dean’s temple as he spoke softly, as though he was whispering a secret, love confession. ‘When you where jerking off in the bathroom. You must have really been going at it, De, that door was rattling like it was going to come off its hinges.’

Dean tensed slightly in Sam’s arms, unsure whether or not he should laugh it off or apologize for the previous night’s moment of weakness. Sighing, Sam wrapped his arms tighter around Dean, pulling him hard against his body. His soft lips trailing gentle kisses down the exposed column of Dean’s neck, causing the older man to push back into the hard body behind him.

‘You should have seen the look on Cas’s face when he realized what you were doing,’ Sam continued. ‘It was almost worth sitting through his stupidly long explanation, about old magic, with a hard on. Almost.’ Sam nipped at Dean’s neck, dragging a moan from between Dean’s parted lips before he was pulling away, scratching his blunt nails over Dean’s stomach as he went.

Dean stood frozen in the cool night, his heart thumping, his breathing fast and labored. His mind barely processing the loss of Sam’s body against his as he tried to figure out how pissed Castiel would be if Dean just forgot all about the hole in time, for a couple of hours, and pushed Sam against the nearest tree, fucking him hard until the only thing he knew for sure was Dean.

When Dean finally had enough control over his libido, to turn and look at his brother, Sam was already kneeling back at the edge of the crater examining the rock, his face scrunched up in concentration. Sighing, Dean made his way back over to stand behind Sam, glancing over his shoulder. ‘So what we gonna do?’ he asked. ‘Dig it up and take it back for Cas to have a look at?’

Dean really hoped that wasn’t the option that Sam went for, because just the thought of lugging that thing back to the Impala was making his back hurt and his palms sweat. He was getting too old for this shit and that included, but was not limited to, slogging through the woods in the dead of night lugging big-ass rocks around.

‘How about I just take a photo?’ Sam said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out his phone, waving it at Dean as he shot a smug grin over his shoulder.

Narrowing his eyes, and clenching his jaw, Dean had to really stop himself from pushing Sam into the hole he was so delicately balanced on the edge of, deciding that the aggravation he would have to live through, for the next few days, just wouldn’t be worth it. Plus, he didn’t want Sam getting mud all over the interior of his baby. It was always a bitch to get mud out of the little cracks in the leather.

The bright flash of Sam’s camera illuminated the clearing, casting long shadows from the trees onto the ground in front of them. For the briefest of seconds, Dean had thought he had seen a flash of something tan disappearing between the trees before the extra light was gone. But by the time he made it round the crater, and to the tree line, there was nothing there, no sign that anyone but them had ever been there.

‘What is it?’ Sam’s voice was low and questioning and Dean knew his brother’s hand was probably already wrapped around his gun, body tense, ready to fight whatever chose to jump out and attack them tonight.

Sighing, Dean shook his head, letting the hand that held his own gun fall to his side. ‘Nothing just...must’ve been a rabbit or something.’ Yeah, a big-ass rabbit but, if anything had actually been there, it was gone now and Dean really didn’t have the energy to go searching through the woods looking for a barely-glimpsed ghost of movement.

Jerking his head in the direction they had come from, Sam took a step into the trees. ‘Come on, I’m beat,’ he said, ‘and, no offence, Dean, but you stink worse than that sewer last week in Austin.’

Dean had a witty, sarcastic reply on the tip of his tongue, just begging to come out, but as he opened his mouth a strong gust of wind whipped around them and Dean got a nose-full of the muddy stench that was him. Scrunching up his face in disgust, Dean wished he had taken that shower, before they left the motel, instead of rubbing one out in the bathroom and then getting dressed. It was going to take him days of driving, with the windows down, to get the smell out of the car. Hell, he would probably have to buy one of those tacky, little air fresheners that were supposed to smell like pine trees but really only smelled like ass.

Grunting his dissatisfaction, Dean started the long trek back to the Impala, keeping his gun grasped tightly in his hand as he moved to take position on Sam’s six. Dean’s gaze darted around, looking for any sign that they were being followed. He could feel Sam moving to walk in front of him, taking the point position, and he knew Sam was doing the same. Probably had his gun out, and half raised, ready to shoot anything that looked threatening.

Dean’s body felt uptight from the tension, sexual and hunt-related, that had been in the atmosphere between him and Sam, like a static charge, since Sam had flashed him that hungry smile back at the motel, that and the constant need to be on alert in case someone, or more likely _something_ , decided to jump them. His whole body felt tired, even his mind, the last few days were finally getting to him. All Dean knew was that he would be glad when this was over and he could finally get a full night’s sleep.

 


	3. Hit The Road Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam shows Dean just how much he means to him. If only Dean wasn’t still driving then he could really appreciate Sam’s talented mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: so once more I do not own any of these characters though one day I shall have an Impala; even if I have to chose between that and a house, it shall be mine. All feedback is welcomed. Thanks to Ciar again for being my beta reader. Have a spiffing day, all my love, so on and so forth.  
> xoxo

By the time they made it back to the car, the sun was just peeking over the horizon, its golden rays reaching out towards the heavens. By this stage, Dean had been on the move, without the chance for proper rest, for days. However, now that they were away from the strangeness of the impact site, and the oppressiveness of the woods, he wasn’t certain if he felt more interest in the idea of crawling into bed, to try and get a few hours of sleep, or in crawling on top of Sam. Both options sounded appealing, particularly when Sam had got Dean’s motor revving again with his provocative teasing during their time spent investigating the crater. Dean thought that, maybe, as he wasn’t operating at his full strength, and as he was the _older_ brother, he should let Sam crawl on top of him and do all the heavy lifting for once. The only thing Dean was certain of was that, as long as the next few hours involved his body and a bed, he didn’t really care.

As the brothers walked out of the forest and towards the Impala, Dean briefly entertained the idea of chucking the car keys at Sam and letting him drive the hour and a half back to the motel. Dean considered the idea of getting some sleep during the drive, in an effort to try and get some energy back, so when they got to the motel he would be able to do something other than just grunt and take it.

Deciding that his current state, of tired but horny indecision, was all Sam’s fault and, therefore, Sam didn’t deserve the reward of driving the Impala, Dean slid into the driver’s seat, wrinkling his nose up at the faint smell of mud and decay that followed them into the car. As soon as Sam had shut the passenger door, Dean started the engine and pulled out onto the road, the soft purr of the engine relaxing him in a way that nothing else could.

The silence between the brothers was a comfortable one, something that came from years of spending time together in an enclosed space with nothing but each other for company. It felt familiar and safe but, above all, Sam’s reassuring presence in the passenger seat allowed Dean to unwind that little bit more, easing the remaining tension from his weary body.

This, right here, was heaven; his heaven. Just him, Sammy, and his baby cruising down the open road. He could spend forever doing just this and never complain, never wish it any other way. Dean wanted to preserve this moment so that when his time came, and he undoubtedly found himself back in the Pit, he would always have this memory to remind him of his life with Sam and the feelings that had made him human.

They hadn’t been driving for more than ten minutes, when one of Sam’s large hands started to slide up Dean’s thigh, jerking him away from his thoughts. Sam’s warm breath fanned over the side of Dean’s face, as he leaned across the bench seat, his tongue darting out to trace the shell of Dean’s ear.

‘How slow do you think you can drive?’ he asked softly, practically purring the question, his voice low and full of lust.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat, as Sam’s hand slid that little bit higher, his fingertips gently caressing Dean through his jeans, pushing the hard metal of his zipper down onto the sensitive head of his hardening dick.

Disbelief flooded through Dean, interweaving with his re-awakened lust. He was surprised that Sam was doing this. Sure, in less stressful times, they had fooled around in the car on a couple of occasions and, on one highly memorable night, after they had survived an encounter with a murderous _bean sidhe_ who had got tired of just announcing when someone was about to die and had gone straight to killing them instead _,_ Dean had even fucked Sam over the Impala’s hood; making him watch their reflection in the windscreen. But during those instances of frantic, or life-affirming, sex the car had been parked each time, and almost always it had been Dean who started things, so it was a bit of a bolt from the blue that Sam had decided to take the initiative now.

Groaning at the thought of what Sam might do, Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white from the pressure. He felt as though all the blood was draining from his head into his eager prick as it swelled under Sam’s gentle encouragement. Dean’s leg twitched as Sam squeezed tightly, causing Dean’s foot to jerk down on the accelerator and making the Impala jump forward, the engine rumbling louder as it sped along the blacktop road.

Cursing, Dean quickly eased off the gas, deciding to ignore Sam’s gentle laughter as best he could, which was becoming easier with every passing moment as Sam started to work on opening the button on Dean’s jeans, slipping his fingers inside the open fly and pushing against the top of Dean’s hardening cock, teasingly.

‘Keep driving like that and you’ll ruin all my fun,’ Sam said, nipping at Dean’s earlobe; Sam’s soft voice doing things to Dean that no one else had ever managed to do. Carefully, Dean moved his foot till the Impala was coasting steadily at 20mph. Dean bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from closing his eyes and actually crashing the car. Although, what a way to go: in a burning blaze of pleasure with Sam’s hot, silky lips wrapped around his dick.

The sound of his zipper lowering had Dean’s hips shifting forward, instinctively seeking out the heat from Sam’s hand that Dean felt radiating thorough the thin cotton of his underwear, as Sam finally slipped his large hand inside Dean’s jeans, pushing the fly open to expose Dean’s tented boxers.

Dean groaned softly and his foot involuntarily pushed down a little harder on the accelerator, pushing his baby closer to 30mph than the 20 it had been doing. Sam laughed gently, as he lowered his head to lick and suck along the curve of Dean’s neck; he rubbed his palm against the hard length of Dean’s erection, pushing down harder as Dean bucked his hips up towards the much needed pressure.

‘Mmm, keep your eyes on the road, Dean. Wouldn’t want to crash,’ Sam purred. It was only Sam’s enticing voice that made Dean realise his eyes had slipped closed as his body was overcome with pleasure. Quickly, he snapped his eyes open, blinking back the urge to shut them again, as Sam moved the hand inside his boxers, grazing the tip of Dean’s weeping cock as he curled his long fingers around the waistband of the dark grey cotton, smearing precome over the sensitive head.

Slowly, Sam peeled back the material, exposing Dean’s hot skin to the slightly cooler air in the car. Gasping, Dean pushed his hips up towards Sam’s hand, seeking out the friction he craved, only to have it slipping away when Sam moved his hand to stroke idly at Dean’s thigh; teasing Dean with the fact that this was his show, his rules, and if he wanted to drag it out for the next hour then there was nothing Dean could do to change Sam’s mind, short of pulling over and taking charge. But, with the way that Sam had been making Dean feel since he’d started things off at the motel earlier that night, Dean didn’t want that.

Dean would be lying if he said that Sam taking control wasn’t one hell of a turn on. Unlike the rest of their lives, when it was them together in the bedroom, Sam was always eager to follow orders, bending to Dean’s will so easily that Dean had almost forgotten what it felt like to just sit back and enjoy the ride; to let someone else pull all the strings for once. He just wished that Sam could have picked a different time to go all dominating, control freak on him. A time that didn’t involve Dean actually having to concentrate on driving, that preferably didn’t involve the Impala at all, unless it was parked, safely away from prying eyes.

Sam laughed in Dean’s ear, the sound alluring and enticing, full of promises of wickedly sweet things to come. Sam pressed a quick, gentle kiss to the sensitive skin behind Dean’s ear, causing a shiver of pleasure to shoot down his spine. Tightening his grip on Dean’s thigh, Sam dug his nails into the denim, the feeling only just on the right side of painful. ‘Don’t take your hands off the wheel,’ he instructed.

With that, Sam pulled away, the sound of his jeans rubbing against the leather bench seat, as he slid backwards, heightening Dean’s sense of anticipation. Dean was just about to yell at his brother for getting him so worked up, and then leaving him high and dry, when the top of Sam’s head bumped against Dean’s elbow as he slipped under Dean’s outstretched arm.

Realisation hit Dean, just leaving him enough time to groan out a desperate ‘fuck’ before his dick was engulfed by the tight wet heat he had been craving all night. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Dean tilted his hips up, pushing his dick into Sam’s mouth as he desperately tried to keep his eyes open and stop his hands from sliding into the thick chestnut hair he could see just out the corner of his eyes.

Sam moaned deeply as he tried to swallow Dean’s entire dick, attempting to force it down his throat, both of Sam’s hands gripped Dean’s thighs to keep his brother in place. Sam began to slowly pull his mouth up, his tongue pushing against the thick vein on the underside of Dean’s cock until the only part of Dean that was left in him was the silky cockhead. Moaning, Sam swirled his tongue around the head, before dipping into the slit and lapping up all the precome Dean had to offer; taking one last long suck, he quickly slid his lips back down until his nose was buried in the coarse hair of Dean’s crotch and the head of Dean’s dick was hitting the back of his throat.

Dean groaned out Sam’s name and his nails dug into the leather of the steering wheel, his lower body reacted instinctively to Sam’s impressive dick-sucking performance which meant his foot pressed down just that little bit more on the gas. Hastily, Dean sought out a spot to stop at the side of the road, somewhere to pull over so he could fuck Sammy’s mouth like the two-bit hooker his younger brother was trying to imitate, because Dean didn’t think he could take much more of this.

A brief thought of wondering how Sam had learnt to enjoy deep throating flashed through Dean’s mind, like it always did when he had Sam’s lips wrapped around his dick, before all coherent thought was chased from his mind by Sam’s talented mouth moving in ways that his little brother had perfected over the months they had been doing this. Sam’s tongue licked against Dean’s dick, caressing the sensitive flesh as he sucked greedily, the noises he was making sounding obscene in the charged silence of the car.

Growling, Dean slammed his foot down on the brake, the car coming to a sudden halt in the road. As soon as the Impala had stopped, Dean grasped a handful of Sam’s long, soft hair and thrust up into his mouth, forcing Sam to swallow around Dean’s dick.

‘Fuck, Sammy,’ Dean moaned, as he threw his head back, finally able to let his eyes slip closed as he tightened his grip in Sam’s hair, forcing his younger brother’s mouth as far down on Dean’s dick as it would go.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s thigh as he relaxed his throat, letting Dean take control and use his hair to guide Sam’s head up and down on his brother’s hard length. Sam tried  desperately to suck, lick, and swallow around the hard silky length in his mouth. Groaning, as Dean pulled him up by his hair, Sam hollowed his cheeks, taking one quick suck at the head, before Dean was pushing his head back down again, as he thrust his hips up, causing Sam’s teeth to scrape lightly against the sensitive flesh.

‘Jesus Christ, Sam,’ Dean yelled, holding Sam’s head tight against his crotch as orgasm ripped through him, his eyes going unfocused as mind-numbing bliss rushed outwards through his body. Sam’s eyes widened as he urgently tried to swallow down Dean’s release, unable to prevent himself from choking as it was forced down his throat.

Panting, Dean slowly uncurled his fist from Sam’s hair, only just noticing that he had kept the other one firmly wrapped around the steering wheel. Smirking, Dean shook his head, amazed that he had managed to at least partly follow Sam’s instructions to keep hold of the steering wheel. The hand that had been tangled in Sam’s hair slipped round to slide under Sam’s chin and slowly ease him off Dean’s now softening dick. Dean’s spent cock fell from Sam’s lips as Dean gently pushed his brother away from his crotch. Taking a deep breath, Sam pushed himself up and slumped back into his seat, legs spread and pulling his jeans tight across his own erection.

Sam groaned and tipped his head back, letting his eyes slip closed as he pushed a shaky hand through his hair, shoving it back off his face. His jaw hurt and his lips tingled from being stretched a little too much for a long period of time. His scalp throbbed from where Dean had been yanking on his hair and Sam was pretty sure Dean had tugged some of the strands free. Sam could feel his eyes watering and some of Dean’s come, that he hadn’t been able to swallow, smeared his chin. Sam’s throat felt raw and in desperate need of a drink but, despite the discomfort, Sam couldn’t help smiling, the sound of Dean shouting his release still ringing in his ears. 

Dean watched Sam from the other side of the car, his racing heart only just starting to return to normal. Sam looked so completely and perfectly ruined and yet totally wanton all at the same time. Dean had done that to Sam, had made his brother look like he belonged in a porno instead of riding around the country killing monsters. And wasn’t that a thought, Sam on film, that would look pretty damn good.

Sam was slumped low in his seat, long legs spread as wide as they could go in the confinement of the passenger footwell, pulling the dark denim of his jeans tight over the impressive bulge of his own hard cock. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he pulled in quick deep breaths, his reddened lips slightly parted. Dean’s cock gave a valiant twitch of interest at the thought of Sam’s lips, and what they could do, but Dean knew it was far too soon for him to do anything again; he wasn’t a teenager any more.

Dean looked at the smeared come on Sam’s chin, from where he hadn’t been able to swallow all that Dean had tried to pump straight down his throat. Sam’s eyes were closed and tears clung to his long lashes; Dean knew that only happened when Sam practically choked on Dean’s dick because one of them had got a little too eager for it, that one normally being Dean because damn if Sam wasn’t good with his mouth.

His gaze following Sam’s large hand, Dean watched as his brother pushed the messy strands of hair away from his face, his head falling back to expose the long inviting column of his neck. Quickly, Dean darted closer to his brother, his hand shooting down to cup Sam roughly through his jeans, as Dean licked his own come off Sam’s chin before moving to lick into Sam’s mouth, shoving his tongue between his brother’s lips.

There was nothing gentle about Dean’s assault on Sam; it was all tongue and teeth as he worked his hand hard against Sam’s erection. Sam moaned around Dean’s tongue as Dean did his best to lick his own taste from Sam’s mouth, loving the flavour of him and Sam mixed together so intimately.

Dean was so consumed by the kissing he didn’t register Sam pushing at him, until Sam slammed his hand into Dean’s chest, practically punching him. Groaning his displeasure, Dean pulled away from Sam’s mouth, the hand that had been rubbing at his brother’s crotch coming up to rub at the spot where Sam’s fist had collided with Dean’s chest. Dean looked at his panting brother with confusion, not understanding why Sam would stop him when it was so clear he had been enjoying himself.

Sensing Dean’s puzzlement, Sam smiled and raised a hand to cup Dean’s cheek, his thumb gently caressing the soft skin under his older brother’s tired eyes. ‘Wait until we get back to the motel,’ he whispered. ‘Until after you’ve had a shower and some sleep. Until you have enough energy to fuck me so hard into the mattress the only thing I’ll be able to remember is your name.’

Dean’s breath hitched at Sam’s whispered plea, the softly spoken words sounding more like a love confession than the filthy promise it was. Smiling wickedly, Dean nodded towards Sam’s erection. ‘Oh yeah, Sammy? And while I was sleeping you would what? Work on sharpening your knives?’

Sam’s eyes widened slightly at the double meaning behind Dean’s words, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips. ‘I promise I’ll be good, Dean,’ he offered. ‘I won’t touch myself till you’re ready to go again; I’ll sit on my hands if I have to. Hell, you can even tie me to the chair when we get back, just to make sure.’

Dean’s heart was beating fast again, post-orgasmic relaxation completely shot to pieces. His body was tensing at just the idea of his Sammy sitting, all hard and needy, waiting for Dean to wake up and take him. Sam would be unable to do anything but sit and think about all the things Dean could do to him, once he was awake and ready for it again. Not that Dean was under the illusion that he would find sleep easily, knowing what was waiting for him when he awoke.

Growling, Dean shoved himself away from his brother and back in front of the steering wheel. Putting the gear in drive, he jabbed at the on-button for the tape player a little more violently then his baby deserved, the loud sounds of _Metallica_ filling the car. Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly, as he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, making the Impala speed along the road as she raced to comply with Dean’s command.

Dean knew he was well over the speed limit but he just couldn’t bring himself to care about the possibility of being caught by traffic cops right now. The sooner they got back to the motel, the sooner they could continue with whatever game it was that Sam was playing.

Dean’s gaze flickered over to Sam as his brother slid both his hands behind his head, groaning as he shifted in his seat, sliding his hips forward until they were right on the edge of the seat, his long legs spreading just that little bit wider, tempting Dean to reach his hand across and just take what he wanted, screw the game and all the rules that Sam had introduced.

Sam smirked knowingly, his long fingers lacing in his long hair, yanking gently, dragging a soft moan from between his slightly parted lips. Rolling his shoulders, Dean pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator, his grip so fierce on the steering wheel that the skin stretched tight across his knuckles.

If Sam wanted to play then, fine, they would play and just the thought of having Sam tied up, and unable to do anything but beg, seemed like a really good idea right about now because, while this might have started out as Sam’s game, now it was Dean’s and he was going to do his best to have Sam begging so loud the people in the next room would start banging on the walls.

Briefly, Dean’s mind flitted back to the motel room and the cock ring he had in the bottom of his bag, bought on an impulse and waiting for a special occasion, before his thoughts jumped to the bottle of small, blue pills he had gotten Sam as a gag gift for his birthday and that he had hidden in the lining of Sam’s bag for his brother to find at a later date. Those would be one way to make sure that Sammy still had it up for him when he woke up and the lord knew (wherever he may be), that Dean loved to keep Sam riding the edge for as long as his restraint would allow.

Smiling widely, Dean eased off the gas until he was only just over the speed limit. Relaxing into the soft leather of the seat, he let the music wash over him, losing himself as he thought of all the things he could do to Sam once they were alone inside a locked room, the ‘do not disturb’ sign firmly placed on the handle of the motel room door. Castiel had disappeared off, to do whatever it was the angel did when he was tracking down information, which meant it was looking like Dean’s weekend wasn’t going to be so bad after all.


	4. Wake Me Up Before You Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So don’t belong to me though I was wondering if anyone has got past the first chapter? Plot is coming I assure you. Again thanks to Ciar for being my beta. Please review I would love to know what you think. Hope you are all having a lovely day.

Groaning, Sam turned his head to glare sleepily at what he could see of Dean’s smiling reflection in the bathroom mirror; the half-closed bathroom door obscured most of Dean from Sam’s view. ‘I hate you,’ Sam mumbled into the pillow, his voice rough, throat almost raw from what they had gotten up to after Dean had woken up from his nap.

Dean’s laughter floated out to Sam from behind the door; his older brother sounding self-satisfied and his smile looking almost comically wide as he flashed a grin at Sam in the mirror. ‘That’s not what you were sayin’ an hour ago, Sammy,’ he teased, winking. The wink sent a jolt of something infuriatingly like lust through Sam’s exhausted body, before Dean was moving away from the bathroom mirror and out of Sam’s line of sight, the older Winchester humming something far too cheery and upbeat for Sam’s liking.

Glaring at the now Dean-less mirror, Sam couldn’t decide whether or not it would be worth the energy it would take to throw one of the pillows at the door. If he put enough force into it maybe he could get the door to swing back and smack Dean in the head. Maybe knock some tact into him. 

Deciding against the inconvenience that moving would involve, Sam groaned and buried his head deeper into the pillow, shoving his face into the soft fabric. He hadn’t moved from where Dean had left him: face down on the bed, legs spread wide and arms pulled high above his head, his fingers loosely wrapped around the wooden slats of the headboard. He could still feel the rough material of the ties, Dean had used to secure him to the bed, on his skin. Sam’s wrists and ankles throbbed pleasantly from the strain he had put on them as he had tugged and squirmed, not trying to get free from his restraints but trying to touch his brother, trying to move so he could see the possessive, hungry glint in his eyes as took Sam. That look was one that Sam had come to crave as proof that Dean wanted this, wanted him.

The moment the brothers had walked through the doorway of their motel room, Dean had pushed Sam backwards against the closed door, the cool metal of the handle digging painfully into the bottom of Sam’s back as Dean pinned him against the cheap wood. One of Dean’s hands had curled around Sam’s right arm, painfully tight, as the other grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair, Dean’s thigh shoving closely up against Sam’s groin. 

Dean had growled his orders into Sam’s ear, all subtlety and restraint gone, replaced by his desperate need to touch, to work Sam’s body and make it respond how _Dean_ wanted, to bend Sam to his desires even if it meant bruising his brother, making him moan and whimper. Dean’s voice had been low and rough in Sam’s ear as he explained what was going to happen: that while he was taking his shower, Sam was to strip one of the beds down to its sheets and then strip himself naked. After the blow job in the Impala, and the drive back to the motel, Sam had been so eager for Dean to reciprocate that he hadn’t really given much thought to what he was doing until he was left sitting naked, on the edge of the bed nearest the bathroom, the bedcovers folded neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed. Even a horny Sam was a tidy Sam; their father’s Marine Corp-taught propensity for cleanliness and order was a hard habit for his sons to break.  

The whole time Dean had been in the shower, Sam’s mind had raced with the possibilities of what Dean would do to him, of all the things Dean _could_ do to him. It was no secret that since Dean had come back from Hell, and Sam had been yanked back out of the Cage, their kinks had taken a darker turn. For them both, pain blurred with pleasure and made it all that much sweeter. Dean was more than willing to be the one dishing it out; learning just how much was enough, to have Sam begging for it, before it became outright torture. That was Dean’s kink; he craved controlling Sam, his Sammy. During sex, Dean took what he wanted from Sam in any way he could and Sam was always more than willing to give it to him.

Dean’s time at the hands of Alastair, and Sam’s trapped with Lucifer and Michael, had changed them both. Both Winchesters had been able to reassemble the majority of their pre-Hell personalities but Hell had screwed the brothers up more than either of them had ever thought possible. So why couldn’t they take comfort in one another? Ever since they were children, they had always given each other whatever was needed so why should now be any different? They both knew what Hell was like, what Hell had been like for the other. They each understood what the other needed to help him keep it together and each brother was more than willing to do whatever it took to help the other.

Sam sighed as unbidden memories of the years he had spent in Lucifer’s Cage, as the helpless and unwilling plaything for two enraged Archangels, began to insinuate themselves in with the much more pleasant memories of just how Dean had played with him for the last hour. Sam glanced up at his wrists, the tanned flesh rubbed red and already starting to darken. He knew they would bruise; becoming thick, dark stripes that would be impossible to hide completely. Whenever Sam handed over fake credit cards or dinner menus people would see the marks Dean had made. Whenever Sam pulled out his fake government IDs, and as the sleeves of his suit rode up, people would see his wrists and they would see the proof that he belonged to someone. Someone who could give him what he craved, what he needed. As he stared at his chafed wrists, Sam wondered if that was why Dean had done it, if that was why Dean had marked him. He wondered if Dean wanted people to see _his_ marks on Sam and know that Sam was off limits, taken, that Sam belonged to someone.

The bathroom door creaked, as Dean swung it open and walked back into the bedroom, still humming the annoyingly cheerful tune that was starting to grate on Sam’s nerves and spoil his perfectly good afterglow. Sam’s whole body felt somewhere between a dull ache and a pleasant, contented hum. The balance between the two states almost perfect if it wasn’t for the cold, sticky, wet-patch around his abdomen: annoying but not annoying enough to warrant actually moving to lug his tired, spent ass off the bed and into the bathroom for what felt like the one-hundredth shower he had had that week. Life as a hunter meant blood, guts, sweat, and dirt which meant a lot of time spent trying to get clean, trying to put the latest victim, dead monster, or ganked spirit behind you before moving on to the next hunt.

‘Move it, Sasquatch; playtime’s over,’ Dean crowed.  

Sam yelped, his hips bucking forward as Dean’s hand collided with his sensitive ass. The loud crack of skin on skin cutting off any reply that Sam had been about to throw his brother’s way. Groaning, Sam fisted his hands in the pillow, his ass stung where he knew there would now be an almost perfect replica print of Dean’s hand forming on his skin.

Dean wasn’t quiet as he moved around the room, rummaging through bags and drawers, moving things and cursing and mumbling under his breath. He was probably looking for Sam’s laptop and the pie that, earlier, Sam had mentioned was hidden somewhere in the room.

Smirking, Sam wondered how pissed off Dean was going to be when he found out that the pie’s hiding place was Sam’s own stomach. In all honesty, Sam had started out with every intention of saving the last slice of pie for his big brother but that had been before he had remembered the most recent skirmish in their sporadic and decades-long prank war: Dean had emptied a whole tube of glue into Sam’s shoes and Sam had had to spend an hour slogging around the small town, in his socks, searching for a pair of boots big enough to fit his large feet.

In the kitchenette, a cabinet door slammed shut, the noise sounding loud in the relative quietness of the room.

‘Bitch, where’s my pie?’ Dean growled, his earlier smugness replaced by irritability at the thought of missing out on the chance to indulge in his favorite treat.  

Smiling, Sam slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows, throwing his head round to look over his shoulder. Dean sat at the small kitchen table, arms folded over his chest, glaring at the laptop as if it had just called his car junkyard scrap. He was pouting like a child who had just been told that he couldn’t have what he wanted: Dean was much more in touch with his inner four year old than he would like others to think. It was frustratingly adorable to see this childish part of his big brother and Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw something at the older man, for acting like a big kid, or if he wanted to apologise for getting Dean’s hopes up: neither option seemed that appealing.

Sam shook his head and pushed himself back, sliding down the bed till his feet were planted firmly on the coarse carpet. Shoving against the bed, he pushed himself up so he was standing, staring at the dark-coloured bedroom wall. Rolling his shoulders, Sam rubbed his large hands over his face, before sliding them up to shove his bangs back out of his eyes. His gaze darted towards the bathroom, as he contemplated simply ignoring the sulking man-child behind him and slipping into the shower, washing away the hours’ worth of sweat and spunk, both his and Dean’s, that covered his skin.

Instead, he sighed, before turning and walking across the small space towards Dean. Draping his arms around Dean’s shoulders, Sam placed a soft kiss on his big brother’s cheek, eyes flickering briefly to the laptop screen in front of them. ‘I’ll go get you some pie once I’ve showered,’ he offered, voice soft and placating.

Dean relaxed into Sam’s embrace, his head falling back to rest on Sam’s shoulder. It never ceased to amaze Sam how the simplest kindness, like the promise of pie, could relax Dean to the point of almost being blissed out.

‘So, what you looking for?’ Sam asked, almost instantly regretting the question as soon as he asked it; hoping, to whoever was listening, that it was case-related and not porn. It didn’t seem to matter how much sex Dean was getting, he always managed to find time to watch some of the freakiest shit the Internet had to offer and Sam was getting really tired of having to clear his browser history every time he logged on to his own laptop. So tired, in fact, that Sam was considering putting one of those child-friendly software locks on the computer, with passwords and security answers that only he would know. Wrapping his arms tighter around his brother, Sam smiled against Dean’s skin imagining the repercussions such an act would have on their sex life.

‘I have no idea,’ Dean responded, before lifting his head off Sam’s shoulder, sliding away and sitting up straight, with an indignant grunt. ‘Do I just type in “melted alien hand in rock” and spend the next week weeding through crack stories and sci-fi fanboy blogs.’

Dean shoved the laptop away from him, pushing it into the middle of the table. Sam could feel the frustration rolling off Dean, wrapping around his own calm state and making him begin to feel edgy and his skin begin to itch. There were only two things Sam knew of that were a sure fire way to make Dean relax and, as he just wasn’t in any fit state to spend the next twenty minutes on his knees with his large body shoved under the small table, Sam suggested the only other thing he knew Dean loved just as much as sex. Maybe even more, sometimes Sam wasn’t totally sure.

‘Why don’t you drive into town, get some food, and I’ll start work on the research into the handprint,’ Sam prompted, feeling Dean physically perk up in his arms at the suggestion. Unwrapping his arms from around Dean’s neck, Sam took a step to the side allowing Dean to push the chair back and pull himself to his feet, his hand already sliding across the table to grab his car keys.

Stopping at the door, Dean turned to look at Sam and, for the first time since Dean had woken up over two hours ago, their eyes met properly. Sam felt as though Dean’s green eyes were boring straight into his soul, the feeling making Sam uncomfortable. Sam never wanted want Dean to truly see the blood-stained mess that his soul had become, riddled with stains and reflecting the darkness that lingered within him, the darkness that Sam had fought every day since his soul had been returned to him. He didn’t want it tainting Dean’s light.

After a moment, Dean smiled widely and Sam couldn’t help but smile back, the sudden return of Dean’s happiness infectious despite Sam’s darkening mood. ‘You plan on spending the rest of the day like that?’ Dean smirked.

Sam’s smile changed to a flush of embarrassment. How had he forgotten he was naked? It shouldn’t be possible for him to forget something so basic, unless Dean had kept his earlier promise and really had fucked his brains out. Which at the moment seemed to be a real possibility.

Dean’s smile turned wicked as his eyes roamed over Sam, taking in every inch of exposed skin. Suddenly, and irrationally given what Sam and Dean had been doing together, naked, for the past hour, Sam wanted to wrap his arms around himself and hide his body from Dean’s gaze.

‘Just saying that if you are, I don’t think we’ll be getting much work done when I get back.’ Dean winked as he yanked open the motel room door, exposing Sam for anyone to see before he was slipping out of the unnecessarily large gap, slowly swinging the door closed behind him.

Sam stood in the middle of the kitchenette, hyper-aware that he was butt naked, his skin covered in bruises, handprints and various bodily fluids, and that, at some point, the room’s drapes had been thrown open. His face flushed with mortification. As he stood there, contemplating the unwelcome prospect of being seen by someone outside and trying to get his tired body to move towards the bathroom, the cleaning cart came into view closely followed by the haggard-looking, middle-aged woman who cleaned the motel rooms.

For a split second, their eyes met through the grubby glass, and Sam felt everything stilling around him, before the women’s face turned an angry shade of red and her outraged shout came through the room’s thin walls.

‘Shit,’ Sam groaned, turning to hide his junk from her and tripping over the abandoned bedclothes in his haste to make it to the safety of the bathroom. Once inside, with the door shut tightly behind him Sam sunk to the floor, his heart pounding as he tried to calm his nerves.

He had just flashed the maid. He had just flashed some poor, middle-aged women who had probably attracted the attention of half the people in this shit hole, along with her boss who would be banging on the door in a matter of minutes demanding that Sam get his freaky flasher-ass out and back on the road.

Sam let his head fall back and hit the door with a dull thud. This was all Dean’s fault for opening the drapes, during his hunt for the pie, without warning him. Sam cringed, if he got thrown out of their room for flashing the motel staff, Dean was never going to let him forget it.


	5. Handprints In The Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So yet again here we are and look I found some plot who would have thunk it. As always I own none of the characters. I hope you enjoy this one it’s got some Dean angst in it witch is always good for the soul. As always thanks to Ciar for being my beta. Please review and I hope you have a lovely day, night or afternoon witch ever one may apply.

When Dean finally made it back to the motel, almost two hours later, Sam was fully dressed and sitting at the table, scrawling on a notepad as his gaze darted back and forth across the laptop screen. Dean couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at the industrious scene in front of him. He had been entertaining the idea of bursting through the door of the motel room and finding Sam sprawled out naked on the bed, ready and waiting for him, nicely rested before Round Two. Dean had been imagining all sorts of things he could do to Sam and having to drag Sam away from research, and out of his clothes, was just an unnecessary obstacle.

‘Honey, I’m home,’ Dean yelled, in an overly loud and sweet voice, slamming the room door shut behind him. Sam glanced up from the computer screen, glaring his displeasure at Dean, before going back to his work. Raising an eyebrow at his brother’s sudden, rotten attitude Dean made his way over to the table, making sure to set the grocery bags on top of Sam’s notepad. Sam growled in annoyance and yanked the pad out from under the bags, shoving them away in the process. Shifting in his seat, Sam placed the notepad on the other side of his laptop, ignoring Dean as best as he could.

Dean scowled down at his brother and gave serious thought to smacking Sam on the back of the head. It might teach him to lighten up a little and, Lord knows, they could do with some sort of fun in their lives about now. ‘What crawled up your tight ass and died?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ Sam forced out between clenched teeth, rolling his shoulders as he pushed himself further back into the hard plastic of the chair, forcing himself to sit up straighter.

‘Okay then,’ Dean drawled. Unconvinced by his brother’s response, Dean rolled his eyes at Sam and his sudden transformation into a bitchy, teenage girl. Dean started to unpack the plastic bags, pulling out containers of food and more than one box of pie. ‘Find anything?’ he asked, out of habit, not really expecting Sam to turn round and say yeah, its some old Hag out in New Mexico or for Sam to have come up with a spell to track whatever the hell it was they were after, but he asked all the same, because it’s what he always did.

Flicking his gaze up from grocery unpacking and towards his younger brother, Dean watched with curiosity as Sam relaxed slightly, his rigid posture beginning to loosen somewhat as some of his tension began to dissipate. So Sam’s attitude didn’t have anything to do with the case then; that was interesting. At a later time, Dean would have to remember to ask Sam what was bothering him: when they had time for him to be able to tease Sam about it; when they could be brothers instead of hunters. 

Grabbing the food-containers, Dean made his way over to the shitty, little fridge that was humming softly in the corner of the kitchenette.

‘Fort Worth, Texas,’ Sam said, unexpectedly.

Shoving the boxes into a clear space in the fridge, Dean stood up and kicked the appliance door closed as he turned to face Sam, a questioning look on his face. ‘Mason, Illinois,’ he responded.

Sam raised an eyebrow in question, looking at Dean as if he had sprouted another head.

‘What?’ Dean protested. ‘I thought we were just naming random places.’ He could see the cogs in Sam’s brain turning as he mentally ran through every insult he could throw at Dean. Dean could tell that Sam was considering everything from calling Dean an idiot to calling him a dickhead.

Instead, Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes at Dean in a way that Dean knew meant Sam didn’t think it was worth the time, or brain power, it would take to insult his older brother. And, okay, Dean could admit that maybe he had been trying to provoke Sam a little, hoping for one of the playful name-calling sessions that, most days, ended up as make-out sessions now, not that Dean was complaining. But if Sam wanted to stay all broody, and business-like, Dean could live with it, just this once anyway.

Turning back to the laptop, Sam’s fingers moved quickly over the keys as he skipped from one browser tab to the next, searching for something that had proven useful. ‘Fort Worth Museum of Science and History,’ he said, ‘for two weeks, and two weeks only, are displaying a private collection of Native American artefacts which just so happen to include a boulder found in the Nevada desert with a hand carved into it.’

As Sam had been talking, Dean had walked up behind him to read over his shoulder. Resting one hand on the table next to the laptop, and gripping the back of Sam’s chair with the other, Dean leaned forward slightly, his knuckles rubbing against Sam back.

‘That’s what…two days from here?’ he asked.

Sam nodded his head in agreement, picking up the pad and holding it out for Dean to take. Standing back up, Dean took the bright-yellow pad from his brother and quickly flicked through the notes, taking in all the information he could, concentrating on the stuff he knew he needed to know and completely ignoring all the other stuff that he knew Sam had already memorised.

‘Dude, what did you even search to find this?’ he asked.

Dean gazed down, watching as Sam’s fingers twitched on the keyboard, a look of disgust flickering across the younger man’s face before he looked up at Dean with pleading, puppy-dog eyes.

‘Trust me, you don’t want to know,’ he said, with feeling. Sam’s voice was riddled with something that Dean could only describe as dismay with a hint of disgust. For a second, Dean thought about calling Sam on it because it must have been some really freaky shit for Sam not to want to bring it up. The brief impulse passed and, nodding his head, Dean threw the pad back on the table, watching as it slid across the smooth surface and only just stopped before it fell off the other end.

‘Fair enough,’ he conceded. Moving away from his brother, Dean sat down on the edge of the nearest bed, the springs squeaking slightly under his weight. Sam turned in his chair to look at him, their eyes met across the small space and made the uneasiness, that Dean had been feeling since Castiel had popped into their room the night before, slip to the back of his mind. Despite the unusual nature of their current hunt, Dean was glad that at least this was the same; familiar. Something they had done a hundred times before and now had down to an art form. They had spent years sitting across from one another in crap motels talking through jobs, discussing the possible monsters they could be hunting.

‘So, should we call Cas and tell him first?’ Sam asked, waving his hand vaguely towards the ceiling as he spoke, as though Dean needed reminding of where Castiel could be when he wasn’t with them. Sam’s voice sounded more uncertain than anything else, as if he wasn’t sure they should be bothering Castiel with something like this when they both knew he had other, possibly more important, things to be doing.

‘Nah,’ Dean replied. ‘We’ll check it out first, see if it’s a dead end or not before we bother old feather-head.’ Dean could see a flicker of disapproval in Sam’s eyes at the name he had used to describe the angel but Sam didn’t say anything. He didn’t make a move to chide Dean like he normally would if Castiel was present.

Smiling, Dean eyed the fridge longingly, regretting putting all the pie away instead of keeping a slice out for himself. It didn’t matter that he had eaten some before he had made it back to the motel, he wanted more, damn it. As if reading Dean’s mind, Sam pushed his large frame out of the chair and made his way over to the fridge, covering the space in two big strides of his freakishly long legs. As Sam bent over to rustle around in the fridge, Dean’s eyes fell to his brother’s ass, admiring the view. He could practically feel the soft skin under his rough hands as he spread Sam open, his thumbs caressing the firm muscle.

‘I can feel you staring at my ass.’

Sam’s playful voice pulled Dean away from his memories, made his gaze dart back up to Sam’s head. Dean waggled an eyebrow suggestively as he leered at his brother. Sam turned around, returning Dean’s smile with an amused quirk of his lips; two boxes of pie, balanced on top of one another, in one hand and two forks grasped tightly in his other hand. Sam looked more relaxed as he walked back towards Dean, something that was a rarity these days. A small flash of longing shot through Dean at the image in front of him. He could get used to this - not the crappy motel rooms and the constant running from one monster attack right into another, they had been doing that long enough that it had become their normal, their routine daily life - but _this_ , him and Sam just together, doing normal people things, living a normal person’s life.

Dean would never admit it to Sam; Dean often hid it from himself in the part of his mind where he repressed everything that wasn’t to do with living in the here and now, but in Dean’s imagination, if they settled down, Sam could go back to school and get his masters, or whatever it was he was trying to get back at Stanford before Dean had shown up. He could become a lawyer in a high-rise office, settling high-profile divorce cases and representing Hollywood’s finest. Or maybe not, his Sammy would want to be one of those lawyers that worked for a charity, or something along those lines, helping people that way. And as for Dean, he had no interest in attending college so he could get a job at a garage or a construction site, doing something that involved working with his hands and actually building something. Dean’s occasional daydreams involved them getting a house together, living somewhere where they didn’t have to hide what they really were to each other. Somewhere where Dean would be able to hold Sam’s hand, as they walked down the street, or would be able to kiss him in the aisles of the supermarket, as they argued over what kind of bread to buy.

Offering up a soft smile of thanks, Dean took the plastic container that Sam held out for him as he moved to sit down next to Dean, the bed sinking under the extra weight. Silently, they pulled open the plastic containers and started to dig into their respective food. Humming around a mouthful of apple pie, Dean chanced a look at his brother. Sam looked happier now than he had earlier, he seemed content; his lips quirked up in a knowing smile around his fork. Sighing, Dean shoved another forkful of desert into his mouth, in a desperate attempt to stop himself from saying something he would come to regret. His ever-searching eyes roaming around the room taking in their scattered possessions, the only proof that they existed.

Almost everything he and Sam owned was in that room, and what wasn’t in the room with them was in the Impala or languishing in a couple of dusty storage lockers, and wasn’t that a sad thought. The only thing of any value that they really had to their name was the Impala, and its cache of weaponry, and that was it; nothing truly substantial. That was their life, they lived on the moved and never stayed in one place longer than a few days. It seemed like there would always be something chasing them, some monster after Winchester blood. They would never get a chance to have a normal life or to be normal. They would never get to have a family and Dean felt that Sammy deserved to have a family of his own. To have a kid of his own that he could raise and love and spend the weekends playing ball with and teaching them how to ride a bike - the list of things Sam was missing out on was huge in Dean’s mind. Sam had a lot of love to give, if he was given half the chance, and he would cherish a kid like it was the most precious thing on earth. Sam might be awkward around kids but Dean knew his brother would make a great dad, better then Dean would have ever been.

Sam shifted next to him, their elbows knocking together as he leaned forward to place his now empty container on the floor. Dean could imagine Sam in a normal life; he could see it clearly. Sam would look so perfect on a green lawn in front of a suburban house, toys lying scattered across the lawn as he played with a wide-eyed, brown-haired little boy with a wide, infectious, trusting smile. Sighing, Dean shoved the pointless thought to the back of his mind knowing that it would never be a possibility. That kind of life just wasn’t an option for a hunter or, it would seem, a Winchester. Shovelling the last bit of pie into his mouth, Dean pushed himself off the bed and over towards his duffel bag, leaving the plastic container on the bed next to Sam. Dean didn’t want to think about the life he was denying his brother by keeping him in this life, keeping him in _his_ life. Dean didn’t want to imagine if he would even be a part of Sam living a normal life or not.

‘You wanna go now?’ Sam asked

His brother’s questioning voice cut through Dean’s thoughts as he rummaged through his bag checking to see what was already there and what he needed to find. Closing his eyes, Dean took a deep breath, shoving his doubts and guilt to one side, before opening them again and turned his head to look at Sam over his shoulder, doing his best to smile.

‘No time like the present, Sammy,’ he answered, and, without waiting for Sam’s reply, he turned back to examining the contents of his duffel, glaring down at his dirty clothes, the muddy and blood-splattered garments smelled foul. They would have to stop somewhere tomorrow so he could visit a laundrette. In fact, he might even have to go as far as buying some new clothes if he couldn’t manage to get the dried blood out of his jeans. Behind Dean, the bed squeaked as Sam got up, his footsteps sounding loud to Dean’s agitated mind as he made his way back over to the table where he had left his laptop. Zipping his bag shut, Dean stood up and turned to look around the room for any stray belongings, watching from the corner of his eye as Sam started to pack away the computer.

They quickly slipped into their familiar rhythm, moving silently around the room to eliminate any trace that they had been there, even going as far as to wipe down the surfaces to remove  fingerprints that could tie them to here and now. Once they were both packed and ready to go, the motel room looked almost exactly as it had when they had first opened the door three days ago.

‘You ready?’ Dean asked, turning to look at Sam, watching as Sam flung his own duffel over his shoulder.

Looking up at his older brother, Sam nodded his head. ‘Yeah,’ he replied, grasping the garish yellow notepad tightly in his hand, the directions to Fort Worth scribbled on the pad’s top page; Sam’s OCD about being well-prepared having got the better of him.

Pulling his sleeve down to cover his hand, Dean yanked the motel room door open and stepped out into the bright afternoon sun. Dean took a few steps out into the car park and stopped as the Impala come into view, his eyes narrowing slightly before he was off again; his strides quicker and longer in his haste to get to his baby. He heard the room door close behind him but he didn’t pay it much attention, his eyes trained on the figure of a woman bent over the side of his car, peering in through the windshield. Anger bubbled up inside of him at the fact that someone was clearly eyeing up his car, his thoughts quickly turning to suspicion that this woman most definitely looked like she was sizing things up in preparation for stealing the vehicle.

Dean’s hunter instincts kicked in and, in the few seconds that it took him to get from the motel room and next to the woman, he was already thinking up several ways to determine if she was a demon or not. One of the less subtle ones being that he would happily throw a flask full of Holy Water in her face.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, stopping slightly behind her he barked out the question, making no effort to sound polite. His voice came out angrier than he had intended but, then again, he was pretty pissed that someone was touching his car so blatantly. The woman gasped at his sudden appearance, spinning around and pushing herself back against the Impala’s hood at the same time, a graceful-looking hand coming up to press against her chest, resting over her frantically beating heart.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the young woman gasped out. Her apology coming in a thick but unplaceable accent.

Taking his first good look at the young woman, Dean began to relax a little, the stranger’s graceful features and panicked body language combining to quieten his rage. The girl looked terrified, her emerald-green eyes were wide and full of alarm as she pushed herself back a little harder against the car. Her long, chestnut hair hung in loose curls flowing down her back and over her shoulders, with shorter layers framing her face. Her pale pink lips were slightly parted, her tongue just visible as it ran over her white teeth.

Slowly, Dean dragged his eyes down her body, telling himself that he was searching for possible concealed weapons but knowing full well that he was appreciating the view none the less; he never could resist looking at a pretty girl.

She wore a faded, black, leather jacket that looked like it had seen a good few years of use but had been looked after and well-loved. Underneath the jacket, she wore a dark top with a faded symbol on it that Dean recognised as Metallica’s _Master of Puppets_ tour logo. Her dark, blue jeans clung to her body like a second skin leaving little to the imagination and nowhere comfortable to hide a weapon, unless she had a knife tucked into one of her black cowboy boots. Flicking his eyes back up he quickly took note of the silver locket that hung around her neck, nestled between her breasts, an ornate looking _W_ carved on the front. His gaze didn’t linger long on the exposed swell of her breasts before darting back up to her eyes, drawn to them as if something was yanking his gaze upwards.

There was something about her eyes, something familiar that he just couldn’t put his finger on. It was almost like he had seen them somewhere before, like he knew them from somewhere. Dean was fairly sure she wasn’t a hook-up from his pre-Sam days, because he didn’t usually go for women so much younger than him, but something about her was tugging at the back of Dean’s mind. 

The young woman, for she was fairly young, no older than her mid twenties at the most, shifted nervously under his scrutinizing gaze. It was only then that Dean realized he had been glaring at her as if she was the scum of the earth.

Before he could apologise for his aggressive behaviour, she was talking again, her voice smooth and low as she launched into an explanation. ‘I’m sorry I just saw the car and I couldn’t resist. I haven’t seen an Impala since I was little,’ she babbled, ‘and I just...no one was around…so…I just...sorry.’ Her voice trailed off into an apologetic murmur, the hand that had been over her heart shot up to rub at the back of her neck, her head falling forward so her bangs fell in front of her eyes. Nervously, she looked up at him through her lashes with wide, pleading, brown eyes, an uneasy smile on her lips. Dean was strangely reminded of Sam. The woman’s action seemed so familiar that Dean could easily picture his little brother doing the same thing just hours ago in the motel car park, when they had gotten out of the Impala, after making it back from chasing phantom handprints in the woods.

Feeling suddenly puzzled, and huffing out a gentle laughter at the thoughts that had been going through his mind, Dean shook his head slightly at his own stupidity. He always had to jump to the worst conclusion; it was one of the downsides of being a hunter and of being on the run. Why couldn’t he see the simple conclusion that she was a pretty girl admiring a sexy car? He flashed her his most charming smile, the one that he normally reserved for sweet-talking waitresses into giving him some extra sides for free.

‘Nah its fine,’ he drawled.

Shrugging the strap of his duffel back up onto his shoulder, Dean extended his arm and offered the young woman his hand. ‘Dean,’ he said, giving her his real name before he even thought about lying and using a fake one. A voice in the back of his head, one that sounded a lot like Sam, screamed at him for being so stupid. They didn’t even know who this person was and he was just giving out his name, the woman could be an undercover cop for all they knew. Dean mentally waved a hand in the voice’s general direction, shoving its complaints to one side.

The woman looked at the offered hand with slight apprehension before grasping it tightly in hers, smiling widely as she shook it. ‘Hope,’ she responded, her lips popping on the ‘P’.

Her eyes sparkled with something Dean couldn’t quite place, though he found himself glad that she now sounded slightly amused instead of the scared she had been. Pulling his hand back, he waved it at the Impala, averting his eyes from her penetrating gaze that seemed to be seeing right through his attempt at protective colouring and straight into his soul.

‘You uh...you like cars?’ he asked, lamely. Dean didn’t know why he was making conversation with this woman instead of telling her to get lost. He was in a hurry and they didn’t have time for this. There was no point in him making small talk with this stranger but there was just something about her that made him want to keep her there for a while longer. Something about her that he felt he could trust, he just didn’t know why.

He felt, rather than heard, Sam come up behind him. Dean could feel the tension and suspicion rolling off of his brother like a tidal wave. Dean watched the woman in front of him with caution, expecting her to start quivering with fear again because he knew Sam’s scary face and it could strike terror into the hearts of some of the strongest men Dean knew. But, to Dean’s surprise, she just smiled up at Sam, her green eyes alight with amusement…that couldn’t be right, could it? Dean knew that when he got angry he could be pretty scary but an angry Sam was one hell of a lot scarier than him, so why was she not backing away slowly as if she was being confronted by a wild animal?

Turning to face the car, she waved a tanned hand at it. ‘I love cars, especially the classics,’ she enthused, as she moved her hand to caress the smooth, black paint; a look of longing and adoration in her eyes. Once again, Dean strongly wanted to tell her to get her damn hands off his car; no one touched her except him and Sammy.

‘1967, V8, 275 horsepower right?’ she asked, as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and shot the brothers a questioning look, her eyebrow raised as she awaited an answer. Dean nodded his head dumbly; amazed that she knew all that just off the top of her head. _He_  knew that, and he was pretty sure Sam, at least, knew the year the car was made but the rest of it? Not a chance; Sam was the Winchester without any interest in mechanical things.

As she turned back to look in the driver’s side window, a flash of black caught Dean’s eye and he zeroed in on a black heart- shaped tattoo behind the woman’s right ear. Dean could just make out something scrawled underneath it, in a language he didn’t recognise, before her hair was falling back in place and hiding it from view once again.

‘You seem to know a lot about Impalas.’

Dean’s head snapped round at the hostility in Sam’s voice, slightly shocked at his brother’s unusually impolite behaviour. Sam’s eyes were narrowed at the young woman, his lips pressed into a tight thin line. Sam looked every bit as suspicious as he sounded; his body was pulled up to his full height and towering over them, except he wasn’t towering over _them_. Sam was definitely towering over Dean but, as Dean turned back towards the car, it was clear to see that Sam wasn’t that much taller than the woman in front of them. She had turned back round to face them again, easy smile lighting up her face but she was standing straighter now, shoulders back and head held high.

Shrugging casually, she locked eyes on Sam, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. ‘My dad had an Impala,’ she said. ‘I swear he loved the damn thing more than me. Didn’t really have a choice but to learn everything about it.’

Sam’s barking laughter rang in Dean’s ears and he quickly snapped his head round to see his brother smiling fondly, his suspicious eyes softening. ‘Oh, I can relate to that,’ he agreed.

Dean glared at Sam, poking his tongue out slightly at him. So what if he was a little too attached to the Impala. It was a good car and had been through a lot with them. It was part of their family. Frowning, Dean turned back to Hope only to find her staring at them, a soft smile on her lips and a strange look in her eyes: something between loss, longing, and love. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he was somehow partly to blame for that small sliver of sadness flickering behind her eyes. Shaking his head slightly, Dean banished the errant thought. It couldn’t have possibly been love that he had seen in her eyes and he couldn’t be the one to blame for her sadness, he was sure he had never even meet the chick before today.

‘ _Had_ an Impala?’ he asked. Scepticism laced his voice because…really? The Impala was one sexy car and he just could not imagine someone getting rid of one, not unless they really had to.

Shrugging her shoulders, Hope glanced back at the sleek, black car, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently on it before letting it go. She looked torn for a second, almost like the world was shattering around her and she didn’t know what to do, but in the blink of an eye it was gone, replaced by a sad sort of half-smile.

‘Got hit by a semi,’ she replied, ruefully.

Dean winced, remembering when his own baby had been on the receiving end of a force that big and remembering what it had cost all of them that day. The state of the Impala hadn’t been pretty and it had been one hell of a bitch to rebuild. Sam shifted next to him, one of his large hands coming up to rest on the small of his back. Instinctively Dean relaxed back into the touch, his eyelids fluttering shut momentarily, as he imagined the heat radiating from his brother sinking into his own skin. It never stopped amazing him how Sam always managed to do this to him, to take away pain and hurt and to just make him feel...normal. Cared for, loved, like he mattered.

Hope didn’t miss the affectionate exchange between the two men and before Dean could explain why he had been sort of starting to flirt with her, when he was so clearly with the guy behind him, she was taking a nervous step back and waving a hand behind her towards a beat-up, red, Ford truck parked a few spaces over.

‘I should get going, got to be in Kansas by the end of the week,’ she blurted out, sounding uncomfortable. She scrunched up her face slightly, before turning and walking briskly towards the truck, and Dean was once again struck by the familiarity of her behaviour, because that was almost a perfect replica of Sam’s ‘ _I can’t believe you just did that_ ’ face. 

Before he knew he was doing it, Dean was yelling out to her, dragging her attention back to them, and stopping her in her tracks. ‘Oh yeah? What’s in Kansas?’ he asked.

She looked down at the ground, sheepishly, her eyes looking anywhere but at them as she rubbed at the back of her neck, shrugging her shoulders. ‘A 1967 Mustang Fastback.’

Dean let out a low whistle. He could see her in a car like that, bet she would look as hot as hell with the wind blowing through her hair as she sped down an open stretch of road, loud rock music blaring out for all the world to hear.

Smiling seductively at her, Dean took a step towards the Impala, slipping the keys from his pocket as he went. ‘Sweet ride,’ he drawled, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. He heard the low growl behind him and knew Sam had picked up on the double meaning behind his words, knew what Dean was implying. Dean knew it was wrong to be doing this to Sam but he loved getting him jealous, loved what came after.

Hope’s impossibly green eyes widened in shock and for a second Dean thought maybe he had pushed their little exchange too far but then she was speaking again, her green eyes practically glowing.

‘Oh, I assure you, it’s one hell of a ride,’ she answered back, her smile wide and flirtatious as she winked at him.

Laughing gently, Dean unlocked the driver’s side door and watched as she walked backwards towards her own car, her eyes never leaving his.

‘You and your boyfriend have a safe trip,’ she called out as she spun around, waving back to them over her head. The truck door screeched as she yanked it open before she slipped inside her beat-up vehicle, slamming the door behind her.

The passenger door to the Impala swung open, the car rocking slightly under Sam’s weight as he got in, the door slamming behind him, the sound ringing with finality. Though he knew Sam was more than irritated with him, Dean remained rooted to the spot, gaze fixed on the truck as it roared to life. It wasn’t until she had pulled out of the motel parking lot, turning left and out of sight, that Dean opened his own door and slid inside the car, shoving his bag onto the back seat as he went. As soon as the door was shut, he was assaulted by a lapful of Sam, his brother’s lips pushing hard against his own, Sam’s tongue forcing its way past his lips and into his mouth.

Too surprised to do much more than take it, Dean sat there wide eyed and frozen, his breath catching in his throat. Sighing, Sam pulled away, placing a gentle kiss on the corner of Dean’s kiss-swollen lips. ‘Do you have to flirt with every half-attractive woman who so much as blinks at you,’ he murmured. Sam didn’t sound angry, just exasperated, and Dean wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

Shame crept up on him, wrapping its long, bony fingers around his heart and squeezing tightly. Shifting round until he could press his forehead against Sam’s, Dean looked him straight in the eyes, hoping that Sam would be able to see how true his next words were. ‘It means nothing.’ Dean kept his voice low but forced as much love and conviction into it as he possibly could, those three words carrying with them everything else that went unspoken between the two of them. _They mean nothing. You are my everything_. But most importantly _I love you_.

Smiling softly, Sam placed a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips before sliding back into his own seat getting comfortable for the long journey ahead. Shoving a tape into the player, Dean started the engine, the music blasting from the speakers.

Sam’s groan of annoyance could be heard over AC/DC, his hand twitching on his leg as he fought the urge to attempt to turn the song down or off. Not that he would be able to; Dean had fast reflexes and he would keep slapping Sam’s hand away until his brother got the message.

‘Dean.’ Sam whined Dean’s name, high-pitched and childlike.

Dean would make sure to take the piss out of his little brother later. Laughing, Dean pulled out of the parking lot and turned right. ‘Sammy,’ he responded, trying to put as much authority into his voice as he could but even he could hear the amusement in it.

Sighing, Sam slumped back into the seat, legs knocking against the door as he tried to get comfortable. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.’

Dean said the last bit with Sam, his voice coming out more sing-song than he had intended but at least Sam was finally starting to learn the house rules after all the years they had spent travelling together. Smiling, Dean started to sing along to _You Shook Me All Night_ _Long_  as loud and as badly as he could, knowing that it would piss Sam off sooner rather than later - but what were big brothers for if not to annoy and humiliate their little brothers?

Dean took one last look in the rear-view mirror, at the latest shitty motel to be added to the long list of other shitty motels they had spent so much of their lives in, his mind flashing back to the young woman they had just met and who he knew he had seen before, knew he had met before. As they drove on, he ran through every possible place he could think of where he might have met her. He tried to think of every job they had done, every waitress or shop assistant he had flirted with, every woman he could remember having in his bed. When his mind turned up a blank he made a mental note to mention it to Sam, but not until his brother had calmed down some more about Dean flirting with her outside the motel, maybe he’d wait until after he had fucked Sam stupid again.

All Dean knew for sure was that there was something about her, something almost familiar that made him want to trust her, and shoot her, all at the same time and he knew from bitter experience that people like that were the kind of people who tended to get you killed.

~*~

Staring down at the black dot on the large map of America she had unfolded on her lap, Hope quickly thought out the quickest route. ‘Fort Worth, Texas,’ she said. ‘That’s what…two days from here?’ Shifting in her seat she turned to look behind her at the young man lying bound and gagged on the back seat, his body stretched out, feet securely tied to the door while his hands were fastened behind his back. He looked back at her with wide, blue eyes full of panic and fear, silently pleading with her to let him go - and wasn’t that just so spectacular, so human of him. It had been so long since she had been around real people, not just their hollowed-out shells, that she had almost forgotten what they were like: how they felt, how they thought, how they breathed.

Sighing, she folded the map back up and shoved it into the glove compartment. ‘What the hell is in Fort Worth, Texas?’ she mused. She looked back, expectantly, at the bound man as if she was waiting for him to answer but all her irritated question managed to do was to cause the young man to sob out a panicked cry, pushing himself back against the faded and ripped leather as if it would protect him from her.

Shoving her hand into her long hair she pushed it out of her face, her green eyes narrowing in concentration as she tried to think of what could possibly have the Winchester brothers running off to Texas so suddenly. She couldn’t really recall any real problem they had had there, nothing that would have them driving across country anyway. Her eyes widened in realisation, as everything seemed to click into place. Smiling in triumph, she swung her legs round off the seat and down onto the floor. Shoving the key into the ignition, the engine roared to life, the stereo starting almost straight away; the old AC/DC tape starting from where it had left off.

‘Fort Worth,’ she drawled. ‘Nice place; shame about the vampire infestation.’ Pulling out onto the road, she turned the truck around and headed back in the direction she had just come from. If she didn’t stop, she would beat the brothers there and it wasn’t like she would have to, or need to, stop. The tank was full and she didn’t sleep all that much these days, the only problem would be food and she could get that anywhere any time.

Glancing up into the rear view mirror, her green eyes locked with the pale blue ones of her captive, trapping him in her gaze. Smiling softly at him, she spoke just as gently as if she was talking to a small child and not a grown man. ‘Hey, shhh, it’s okay. It will all be over soon, I promise. I’ll make it all better, I swear. I just need to grab someone to eat first.’

As she spoke, the colour drained from her eyes, her pupils expanding and leaving them glassy, black, pools of nothingness. The young man began to struggle against his bonds once more, the rope digging into his skin and rubbing the flesh raw. His terrified scream muffled behind the cloth tied across his mouth. Tears fell from his wide, panicked eyes as he thrashed against his bonds, feet slamming against the door in a desperate attempt to get free. Laughing gently, Hope returned her gaze to the road ahead of her, turning the music up as loud as it would go until the man’s screams were nothing but barely audible background noise. Smiling widely, Hope tried to savour the feeling of anticipation of what was to come welling up inside of her.

Tapping her fingers along to the beat she began to sing along to _You Shook Me All Night Long_. She loved the song, knew the words by heart, but it would sound so much better out of a nicer, more classic car. Something sleek and black from 1967 and she knew just where to find one. She was so close she could practically taste her success already and, if their small interaction earlier was anything to go by, gaining the Winchesters’ trust was going to be a lot easier than she had originally thought. She would have to put a stop to the flirting though, it just wasn’t right.

 


	6. Tell Me You're Not Thinking The Same?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, yet again, here we are and look, I found some more plot. As always, I own none of the characters. I hope you enjoy this one. Please review, I mean it, really; please, please, please review no one seems interested and I would like to know what I am doing wrong. I hope you have a lovely day, night or afternoon whichever one may apply. All the best, thanks, and if you made it this far - YAY!

Absent-mindedly slamming the Impala door shut, Sam didn’t even bother to look up at Dean’s indignant grunt as he continued to read the local newspaper. Sam’s eyes quickly scanned over the notice for a missing car and, chuckling, he chucked the paper across the seat at Dean, where it landed article-up on top of Dean’s half eaten burger.

‘Dude,’ Dean whined, picking up the newspaper between the tips of his fingers, as if it was the scummiest thing in the world, ready to throw it back at Sam before the relevant article caught his attention. Flipping it round, Dean quickly read over the text, his eyes darting from one side of the page to the other, his frown deepening as he read.

‘Think your girlfriend’s been busy,’ Sam teased.

Dean growled, as he shoved the paper back at Sam, before taking another bite out of his burger and making a show of glaring at the billboard across the road from them. The brothers had been on the road for four days now and, ever since Dean had finally managed to snarl out a comment about the strange feeling he had gotten about the young women they had encountered back in Portland, Sam had been teasing him mercilessly about it.

Sam had even gone as far as to start referring to her as Dean’s girl but, in all fairness, Sam was doing this more for his own benefit than anything else simply because, every time he described the girl that way, Dean would get pissed off and start ranting about how he only needed one girlfriend and, as he already had Sam, he wasn’t currently in the market for another. Every time Dean said something along these lines, even if it was said in grumbling and disgruntled tones, it made Sam’s heart soar. Just knowing that this was enough for Dean, that _he_ was enough for Dean, made Sam feel lucky because knowing that he was all Dean wanted, even with all the stuff that was so clearly wrong with him and despite the taint to his soul, was enough to make him happy for the rest of his life.

‘Well, she said she was getting a 1967 Mustang Fastback and for one to just disappear from a museum, it’s kind of suspicious,’ Sam pointed out.

Dean huffed scornfully before shoving the last of his burger into his mouth and wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. Dean showed his disdain for Sam’s reasoning through his body language as he shoved the empty paper wrapper back into the takeout bag and threw it over his shoulder into the back of the car.

‘Good job we’re not cops then,’ Dean snarked, as he started the car and pulled out of the small gas station; the music on the car’s radio nothing more than a low murmur in the background. Scowling at his brother, Sam shook his head in annoyance at Dean’s refusal to become concerned by the contents of the newspaper article but, then again, over the years the brothers had frequently found themselves in the position of needing to steal cars and then dump them, here, there, and everywhere, so Sam supposed they didn’t really have much room to be judgmental of someone else doing the same thing.

Sam sighed as he let his mind wander back to the last few days and the seemingly impossible job they were attempting to work. Fort Worth had been a complete waste of time; the carved hand-print had been just that, a crude likeness of a human hand that had looked nowhere near as perfect, or as real, as the one they had seen back in Portland. So he and Dean had slunk back to the car, feeling dejected and at a loss for what to do, before wordlessly agreeing to turn around and head back for another look around the clearing in hopes that there was something they had missed.

Sinking back into his seat, Sam continued to flip through the newspaper, taking the opportunity to catch up on current affairs that he had missed over the last few weeks. Sam was just about ready to throw the paper into the backseat when the title of a small article towards the back of the paper caught his attention. He read over article quickly before re-reading it twice more, distrust and anger putting him on edge.

Sam turned to look at Dean. ‘What colour was that truck little Miss Mysterious was driving?’ he asked, not even bothering to explain who he was talking about, knowing that Dean would understand who he meant. After all, she was the thing they talked about most at the moment, next to that stupid hand-print.

Shooting Sam a questioning glance out of the corner of his eye, Dean shrugged as best as he could. ‘Red,’ he responded. ‘Why?’

‘Because four days ago, Tad Anderson was reported missing when he failed to make it home from work in Portland.’ Sam looked expectantly at Dean, waiting for him to put all the pieces together, but when Dean shot him a confused glance Sam groaned in frustration. He didn’t know if Dean was purposely being dense to annoy him or if his big brother really couldn’t see the connection.

‘Tad was found last night, in his red Ford truck, two miles from here.’ Sam raised both his eyebrows at Dean waiting for his brother to reach the same conclusion he had, to realise that it looked like they had been played by someone who had almost been able to anticipate their next move.

‘So she's a car thief and she likes to kidnap people,’ Dean said. ‘Sam, that's a problem for the police, it's got nothing to do with us.’

Groaning, Sam threw the paper at Dean, his brother's lack of concern beginning to annoy him. Sam didn't know if Dean couldn't see could the significance in the newspaper story, or if Hope had been so convincing for Dean that it stopped him from suspecting her, but if Dean didn’t start taking this seriously, Sam was going to punch him.

‘Ok, so how about this then,’ Sam said from between clenched teeth, ‘when he finally came around, all Tad could talk about were the kidnapper’s completely black eyes and a blinding white heat burning inside of him. Oh, and did I mention he has half a hand print burned onto the side of his _face_?’

Dean's head snapped round, eyes wide and, finally, he was paying full attention to what Sam was saying. Sam knew he was looking at Dean as if his brother was an idiot but sometimes Dean managed to amaze Sam with how far outside the law some people had to go before Dean saw their behaviour as abnormal. Sam was sure that growing up as the son of a supernatural-hunting outlaw had badly skewed Dean’s perception of acceptable behaviour but, then again, Sam (with four years of living a normal life at Stanford under his belt) hadn't seen anything wrong with Hope either, not until the evidence was right in front of him anyway.

They had both been played, lured in by a shy smile and wide eyes. It wouldn't be the first time the big bad had taken to wearing the body of a young women, playing the part of a sweet, innocent, little thing but to have it paraded around in front of their faces, flaunting its disguise, probably testing it out and who better to try it out on than hunters? And he and Dean had just let her swan off. She had probably had that poor man tied up in the back of the truck the whole time she had been flirting with Dean.

‘Well, that's worth a look,’ Dean said, as he turned his attention back to the road, his brow furrowed as he glared at the asphalt.

Sighing, Sam re-read the article but it didn't say much more than crazy man found almost two thousand miles away from his home.

‘So where is the guy?’

Dean's rough voice cut through Sam's musings. Quickly, Sam glanced through the text of the short article looking for the information Dean had requested. ‘Uh…Stormont-Vail, Topeka’ he answered. Sam glanced up at his brother and caught him nodding his head, his eyes never leaving the road. Dean looked troubled, like there was something he couldn't quite wrap his mind around, and Sam had a small suspicion it was a green-eyed, brown-haired woman that went by the name of Hope.

Shifting his gaze back to the road, Sam tried to think of the best way to approach the subject with Dean, knowing that if he said the wrong thing Dean would clam up and he would never know what was truly going on in his brother’s head. More than once, Sam had lashed out in frustration, demanding to know things that Dean considered touchy or private subjects, and all that had got him was a scowling Dean and an utter refusal to say more than the few necessary words needed to communicate the basics.

‘I should go...check it out then.’

The unexpected voice surprised them both and Dean swore loudly, wrenching the steering wheel to guide the car off to the side of the road and slamming his foot down hard on the brake pedal. The car skidded to a stop and Sam's hand automatically shot out, bracing him against the dashboard, as he was thrown forward. Once the car had stopped, the engine switched off, Dean spun around in his seat, anger rolling off of him and his green eyes dark with emotion, as he glared daggers at the angel now materialised in the back seat.

‘Goddamn it, Cas, you could have killed us,’ Dean yelled, his voice echoing around the small space of the car’s interior and sounding twice as loud as it was.

Sam let his eyes slip closed for a moment, taking deep breaths as he waited for his heart to slow back down to its normal, steady beat, telling himself that Castiel wouldn't have let them crash and die.

‘Do not blaspheme, Dean,’ Castiel said.

Sam laughed weakly at Castiel's monotone reply, he couldn't help it really. Trust the angel to focus on Dean’s swearing and not on the whole almost killing them bit. Sam heard Dean snarl in frustration and he opened his eyes just in time to see Dean spinning back around and starting the engine up. The Impala roared to life, as Dean applied his foot to the gas pedal forcefully, and the car pulled back onto the road. The loud rumble of the engine working to disperse Dean’s anger even as he muttered to himself about stupid angels and their inability to use phones like normal people

Shaking his head at his brother, and the slightly disturbing relationship he had with his car, Sam twisted round in his seat, until his back was pressed against the cool glass of the passenger-side window, so he could get a better look at the angel behind him.

Castiel looked the same as always, his dark hair sticking up slightly, blue eyes bright yet completely devoid of anything apart from seriousness, his lips set in a grim line as he stared out the windshield ahead of them as though he was seeing something neither of them could, his ever-present 5 o'clock shadow covering his set jaw. The angel’s vessel was attractive, Sam could admit that, if you were into that whole stern, vacant, squish-you-like-a-bug, but with a slight tinge of innocence and naivety, thing Cas had going on. Jimmy Novak had been easier to understand, he had been lived-in and substantial, full of life and emotion, and though Sam thought of Castiel as an individual in his own right, the angel just didn't have that spark it took to make a connection. Even demons managed to get that little human _thing_ down to an art but Sam supposed it worked to their advantage, after all, if they could make you believe in that very basic lie it would be easier to convince you to believe the bigger lies and to give up your soul.

Dean was the first to break the silence, ‘No offence, Cas but your people skills make a rock look like a soft, fluffy pillow. You're more likely to make this guy think he’s crazier than he already does.’

Sam glared at Dean. Okay, he would admit that Castiel was incredibly socially-awkward but that did not mean Dean had to go around pointing it out every chance he got, it was…mean. Sam knew that the angel didn’t even understand that Dean was mocking him but, still, it was too easy a shot, like shooting fish in a barrel, and Sam had thought Dean would have gotten over Castiel's inexperience with human interaction by now.

Dean smirked and winked at Sam before he looked at Castiel in the rear-view mirror. ‘Why don't you let us do all the sweet-talking. You just sit back and enjoy the ride.’

Sam glanced behind him and saw that, just as he had been expecting, the angel looked more confused than anything else.

Cocking his head to the side, Cas sank back into the rear bench-seat, taking Dean's words at face value. Laughing gently at Castiel's innocence, Sam swivelled back around to look out the windshield, making himself more comfortable in the small space. The three of them sat in silence, the noise of the Impala’s engine the only sound.

Sam watched the world pass by and wondered how his life had become this big, confusing mess. How fucking his brother, and spending time with an angel, had become normal to him. Sighing, he let his eyes slip closed, let his mind slip into that place it always went when he craved solitude. He loved Dean, he was _in love_ with him; he knew that. Sam loved Dean more than anything else in his sad, broken little world, and that included life, but no matter how hard he tried he had never been able to shake the feeling that he was stopping Dean from having a normal life, stopping him from living the safer life that his brother had earned and that he truly deserved.

Back before things had gone badly wrong for them and they’d had to go back on the run, Dean had seemed like he was building a life with Lisa and Ben until Sam had shown up, soulless and uncaring, and dragged Dean back into a life of horror and danger after Dean had been out, had been free. Dean had got himself a normal family, one that wouldn't put him in jeopardy or betray him, and he had looked convincing at playing the part of a caring father and loving boyfriend. It hurt Sam to think that he was the reason Dean didn’t have that option anymore, hurt him to think that it was him stopping Dean from having that in his life, because Sam _knew_ that Dean would make a great dad. When they had been growing up together in grotty motels and on the road, Dean had always been a devoted older brother and Sam knew that Dean would dote on a kid like there was no tomorrow. He would teach it how to drive, how to really love building things, and how to take care of the car. Show it how to defend itself against all the bad things in the world, protecting it fiercely, just like he had with Sam.

When Sam felt like this, he could picture it all clearly: Dean standing outside a suburban house with a white picket-fence and a greener-then-green lawn. Arms spread wide as he chased happily after a small boy whose smile could charm the birds down from the trees, and cookies from the neighbours, just like his dad’s could. A picture-perfect happy family, just like Dean had spent years protesting would drive him crazy but that Sam had hidden in the shadows and watched him living with Lisa.

Letting out a small huff, Sam let his head fall against the cool glass and tried to shove his painful thoughts away. Sometimes it was too easy to torture himself with it, to scratch and poke at the dark stain of guilt he felt at being a weight around Dean’s neck, at being the thing that held Dean back from making different choices. Sam’s mental picture of Dean living a perfect, normal life was just that; a nice image. One that he took out and examined from time to time, mostly when he was feeling guilty and worthless, but one that Sam knew, deep down, could never be a reality. He and Dean had both tried getting out of the life (Sam with Jess and Dean with Lisa) and they had both failed. Hunting was a life you never really escaped unless you got killed on the job or a miracle slapped you round the face.

Unfortunately for them, the Winchesters were number one on the big book of monsters’ hit list, and even if they stopped actively hunting it didn’t mean that things wouldn’t still come looking for them, which meant putting other people in danger. The sad truth was that this would always be their life and the only way they would be getting out of it was when they were six feet under. If they were lucky.

But then again Sam only needed to get Dean out, what happened to him was irrelevant.


	7. The Madness Behind Sanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, yet again, here we are and look! I found some more plot. As always, I own none of the characters. I hope you enjoy this one. Please review, I mean it really; please, please, please review. No one seems interested and I would like to know what I am doing wrong. I hope you have a lovely day, night or afternoon witch ever one may apply. All the best, thanks and if you made it this far YAY!

It didn't take much for Sam and Dean to get in to see Tad Anderson. They showed up at the hospital in their freshly cleaned suits, flashed their fake FBI badges, and fed the hospital staff a relatively convincing story about them following up on a set of similar cases across the country. It didn’t take long for them to be whisked away down corridors, and up in elevators, by a helpful nurse before being left to their own devices outside Tad’s room.

Dean had offered up a quick prayer to Castiel, and he used the term ‘prayer’ very loosely, calling him down to the floor they were on. When the angel blinked into existence beside them, the three of them slipped into Tad’s small, private room, making sure to lock the door behind them.

For someone who had been abducted and spent four days held against his will, Tad Anderson looked remarkably well. Dean would even go as far as to say the man looked in pretty good health if it wasn't for the two obvious finger marks that had been burned into the right side of his temple.

Sam got the ball rolling. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Anderson. I'm agent Smith, and these are my colleagues: Agents Jones and Novak.’ Sam smiled reassuringly as he spoke, flashing his badge and gesturing towards the other two men as he introduced them. Sam made sure that everything about him was calm, open, and friendly.

Dean didn't miss the slight shift in Castiel's stance as Sam used his vessel’s real name and, not for the first time, Dean wondered if Jimmy Novak was still in there somewhere, buried deep under the angel controlling his body, but still there nonetheless. Dean had often wondered what it was like to be trapped and unable to do anything but watch as someone else, _something_ else used your body. To be honest, Dean didn’t see much difference between angelic vessels and demonic possession even though angels, being the bureaucrats that they were, waited for you to agree to that shit. It made Dean sick to think that good-intentioned people willingly give angels everything they were, and let the angels destroy it, as they carried out whatever their heavenly mission was on Earth. Ultimately, it didn’t matter whether you had a demon or an angel riding your body, the end result was the same:  the life you had was gone forever.

Dean took a deep breath, to dispel the briefly distracting thoughts, and smiled, in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He nodded his head by way of a greeting, as Tad sat up and turned to look at him before turning wide, blue eyes to Castiel. Thankfully, the angel managed to awkwardly incline his head towards Anderson, mimicking Dean.

‘We just need to ask you some questions about your kidnapping.’ Sam said.

Tad slowly turned to look at Sam, his gaze seemed unsure and worried, and Dean took the opportunity to take a good look at this young man sitting in a small hospital bed, with a dim bedside-lamp casting the room in sickly light. Anderson’s skin was pale and scattered with freckles, his eyes a deep blue and his medium-length, blond hair was tightly curly. When he sat up, little ringlets stuck up in every direction making it look like he had a bird’s nest on his head. He didn't look any older than 19, maybe 20 at a push, and his frame was thin and wiry, like he still needed to grow into it. It reminded Dean of how Sam had looked after his massive growth spurt at the age of 16.

Sam moved closer to the hospital bed and spoke gently. ‘What can you remember about the night you were taken?’

Sam was using the understanding voice that worked so effectively when he used it for talking to witnesses. Dean wasn’t fond of Sam using that voice; successful as it was in producing information, it often made Dean feel uncomfortable. It unnerved Dean how Sam speaking to people like that made them open up and spill their guts. Dean definitely preferred Sam to use his Jedi voice-powers on strangers; he hated it when Sam directed that voice at him because it made Dean really want to tell Sam everything he tried so hard to keep hidden, deep down inside.

Moving to lean against the stark-white back wall of the room, Dean pulled a pen and a small notepad from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, getting ready to write down anything that might be useful or, failing that, he could always distract himself from the effect of Sam’s voice by doodling a little cartoon of Sam and Castiel playing hug chase. Dean had been developing the themes of his doodles and, lately, doodle-Sam was often running away, screaming out for Dean to save him - like the damsel in distress that he was - while cartoon-Cas usually stood glowering and confused as to why Sam refused to let Cas engage in the human custom of hugging him.

Dean watched as Tad's eyes shifted nervously from Sam - who, as the 'responsible one' of their group, had taken the only chair in the room and sat next to the young man's bed, all the better to dazzle the poor, unsuspecting kid with his ultra-sympathetic gaze - to stare uneasily at Castiel who hadn't yet moved from the spot in the middle of the room, where he had stopped once they came in, and who was staring intently at the poor guy.

Shifting nervously on the bed, Tad quickly returned his gaze to Sam, as he launched into his story, his voice soft and full of doubt as if he didn't quite believe what he was saying.

‘I was driving home, running late because I’d been held up at the hardware store helping an old lady with taking her shopping to her car…because of the rain, y‘know. It’d been pissing buckets, the worst I’d ever seen it.’ He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I looked up from tuning the car radio and _she_ was just...she was just standing there, in the middle of the road. It was the middle of nowhere, so I stopped, and when I spoke to her she said she’d been hiking when the storm hit and that she just needed a ride to the nearest motel so she could wait out the storm. I didn't think anything was wrong - I just opened the truck door and let her in.’ His face grimaced as he spoke, ‘I thought I was helping her, you know? Just trying to be nice.’

Tad closed his eyes, his brows furrowing as if he was trying hard to remember something. He opened them again and looked briefly to Castiel, regarding him with a questioning gaze, before he shook his head, as if it would help clear his mind, and turned his attention back to Sam.

Dean watched Sam smile reassuringly and nod his encouragement. He could see Sam’s pen moving quickly over his own notepad and Dean knew Sam was writing down everything the guy was saying, knew he was making little notes about Tad’s behaviour, in case this really did become a country-wide thing and he had to compare witness statements and the witnesses themselves. Though Dean often found Sam's tremendous need to know _everything,_ about what they were working on, annoying and detrimental to his chances of sex - a researching Sam was a preoccupied Sam; a Sam not in the mood to lose time fooling around with his brother in bed - Sam’s compulsive note-taking came in useful and, although Dean would never admit it to his brother’s face, it had saved their sorry asses more than once and probably would again.

That didn't mean Dean had to like the amount of attention Sam was showing the kid and that Dean couldn't get slightly miffed by all the smiling and the way Sam was looking at Anderson, all coyly through his lashes, practically screaming naive flirting, and the kid was eating it up.

Giving the back of his brother’s head a censuring glare, Dean shifted his glance down at his notepad and the cartoon-Sam that was so close to reaching his cartoon-Dean. Smirking, Dean drew a door around his cartoon self, and the next sketch showed cartoon-Sam pounding on a closed door, as Dean’s doodled avatar leaned against the other side inspecting his nails, and a cartoon-Cas moved inexorably to throw his arms around a reluctant Sam. It was a small, childish, and private form of justice but Dean would take it, for now.

Shifting his attention back to what was happening in the room Dean heard Sam trying for more information.

‘What about after that?’ Sam asked. ‘Do you know what happened in those four days you were missing?’ Sam shifted forward slightly, his expression serious again, his pen poised to note down anything useful, ready to capture what Tad said, exactly how he said it.

Tad shook his head to indicate he had no further information for Sam. Dean found himself a little startled at how enthusiastic the kid was being in getting across his point; his head shook so animatedly that his hair kept falling down into his eyes. He looked so confused in that moment that Dean felt kind of sorry for the guy. After all, it wasn't the kid’s fault this had happened to him.

Tad spoke quietly, almost hesitantly. ‘She was looking for something, or…someone maybe… she had to find it, whatever it was, and fast.’

Sam shot Dean a concerned look over his shoulder, communicating his worry silently in the Winchesters’ private language of glances, and Dean knew that he and his brother were thinking the same thing, except Dean was growing pretty sure that Sam already had a name in mind for this thing that Castiel had them hunting, and whatever their target was searching for couldn't be good. None of the big bads they’d faced in the past had ever wanted puppies and rainbows; for them, it was all about ruling or ending the world. Dean knew they needed to find whatever Tad’s abductor was after, fast, and hopefully before the kidnapping, and possibly time-jumping, mystery women could track it down, because who knew the kind of damage a big bad could do once they found it. He and Sam needed to find the thing as soon as possible and knowing exactly what it was that Tad’s kidnapper was looking for would be a great help right about now. 

Sam shifted forward slightly in his seat, until he was perched right on the edge, his pleading expression practically begging Tad for something substantial that could help them.

‘Can you remember _anything_ about her?’ he asked. ‘What she looked like, how she spoke, _anything_ that stood out to you?’ There was a slight edge of desperation to Sam's voice now, pushing for any facts that would confirm his suspicions and tie Hope to the scene of Tad’s abduction. Dean knew that Sam wanted something that would finally and explicitly mark _her_ as the monster they were after.

Sighing, Dean shifted against the wall, moving his weight from one foot to the other. He couldn't understand why, after one meeting and a newspaper article, Sam was so sure that Hope was connected to this hunt that Castiel had started them on. But, then again, Dean couldn't fully explain why he was so sure that Hope wasn’t involved. All he could point to was a feeling, deep in his gut, that they weren't getting the whole picture. His instincts told him that they were missing an important part of the story and that finding out who had come through that rip in time was only the tip of the iceberg because, after that, there would be a lot more to learn. Dean had no specific facts on which to base his gut feelings but his hunter’s instincts had served him well in the past and he wasn’t about to discount them now.

Tad took a deep breath before responding to Sam’s impassioned request for additional information. ‘Her eyes were black, like coal, and her body was this mass of bright, white light,’ he volunteered, ‘but her voice sounded normal, kind of like my cousin from Austin, y’know? And she kept apologising, a lot, for like…everything.’

Dean watched as Sam eyes widened slightly, those last few words providing the younger Winchester with the one thing he had been after since they had entered the room. Mentally cursing the kid for his choice of words, Dean thought back to Hope, the young woman that he and Sam had met only a few days ago. Even though they’d only had a short conversation she had apologised a lot and, now that he really thought about it, her accent had had a sort of Southern twang to it. Similar thought they might be, these facts didn't mean Tad’s kidnapper had to be her; it didn’t mean that Dean had to be wrong in thinking better of her than Sam.

Sam smiled brightly at Tad, and straightened his posture in the chair. He quickly slipped his pen and notepad back into the inside pocket of his jacket, and nodded his head slightly, before gesturing towards Tad's face. ‘Would you mind if I took a photo?’ he asked, extending his arm and pointing with two fingers towards the burn marks on the side of Tad's head. No one missed the way Tad flinched back at the gesture, as if he was afraid Sam could actually do some damage by just waving his two fingers around.

Chewing nervously on his lip, Tad took a moment to think before nodding his head in agreement. Slowly, he turned his head to the side so Sam could get a better look at the two half-fingerprints that had been burned into his right temple, just slightly above his eye.

Wordlessly, Sam stood up and pulled his phone from the pocket he had just shoved his notepad into. Holding the small, black phone in both his hands he extended his arms, bringing the phone closer to the boy’s face. Tad squeezed his eyes shut as if anticipating a physical blow, biting down harder on his bottom lip and grimacing in displeasure at Sam’s physical proximity.

The phone’s bright flash briefly illuminated the young man’s face, casting a shadow on the wall behind his head.

Photograph taken, Sam stepped back. ‘Thank you, Mr Anderson, he said, gently, and as soon as the words had left his mouth, Sam was moving, shoving the phone back into his pocket and stepping round the chair, quick to make his escape now that he had what he needed. Dean noted that Sam‘s expression looked somewhere between crestfallen and  annoyed, almost like someone had kicked his puppy so, now, he was gearing up to go kick them, twice as hard and somewhere where it would really hurt. Biting down on the inside of his lip, Dean made a silent plea that they wouldn't run into Hope again, until all this was sorted out, because Sam would take a hell of a lot of holding back from taking action if they did.

‘I'm not crazy,’ Tad mumbled from the bed and, once again Dean was struck with a small wave of pity for the young man. Dean didn't know for certain if what Tad had seen was supernatural or if the young man had just imagined it as a way to cope with what he had been through. But Tad had actually told people what he saw and Dean knew that for the rest of his life, people were going to think Tad was crazy because of it .

‘No one said you were,’ Dean responded, flashing the young man with a tight smile as he shoved his own notepad into his jacket pocket. He pushed off the wall and took the few steps forward to grasp the still-silent angel by the arm, dragging him off the spot, from which he hadn't moved since they entered the room, and towards the door.

‘Fort Worth.’

Dean froze as Tad's softly spoken words filled the room. To Dean, those two words felt like they weighed a ton. Sam stopped dead in his tracks, arm outstretched towards the door handle, he turned and looked at Dean with wide, surprised eyes.

Letting go of Castiel's arm, Dean turned to level a hard stare at Tad. The young man had moved up the bed, his thin frame huddled up against the headboard, long arms wrapped around his legs pulling them tight against his chest.

‘I'm sorry, what?’ Dean asked, the annoyed tone of his voice cutting through Tad’s withdrawn silence, drawing the man’s attention back to them and away from the chair beside the bed that he had been staring at with a vacant look in his eyes. Tad's eyes flickered nervously around the room before concentrating on a spot just over Dean's right shoulder that Dean knew had to contain Sam's head with its ‘do whatever I want' face.

‘Fort Worth, Texas,’ Tad said, softly. ‘Whatever she was looking for, that's where she was going.’

Dean felt a chill run down his spine, wrapping around him and squeezing tightly. Nodding his head brusquely in thanks, Dean quickly ushered his companions out through the door and back into the hospital corridor. Tad's faint, repeated whisper of ‘not crazy’ was the last thing they heard before the door clicked shut.

As soon as they were in the corridor, Dean slammed his fist into the wall, the loud thud drawing the attention of a passing nurse. Sam unleashed his most sympathetic smile on her and she nodded briefly before quickly darting around the corner towards the nurses’ station.

‘Damn it!’ Dean's rough voice sounded loud in the now empty corridor, his hand throbbed as the skin stretching tight over his knuckles started to turn an angry shade of red.

Sam placed his hands on Dean's shoulders, rubbing gently in an attempt to soothe his older brother’s tension. Sighing, Dean felt himself begin to relax a little under Sam's touch, the anger starting to drain from him as if Sam was sucking it out of his body. However, the moment was soon interrupted by the sound of Castiel’s voice.

‘I do not understand, Dean,’ he said. ’This is bad?’

Turning his head slightly, Dean shrugged out of Sam's grasp and turned his full attention to Castiel. The angel stood in the middle of the corridor, wearing a slightly confused look that Dean was all too used to seeing on the face of the angelic vessel, as he stared at them. Gesturing back towards the door they had just come through, Dean practically growled out his answer, ‘We just came from Fort Worth.’

‘Why?’ Castiel asked.

Sighing at the question the angel asked most frequently, Sam shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and jerked his head in the direction of the stairwell at the end of the corridor. Nodding his head in agreement, Dean started to follow his brother without bothering to check if the angel was following along behind them or not.

Sam nudged the door to the stairs with his shoulder, and stood holding it open for the other two as he glanced around the stairwell to make sure that they were alone and could talk freely. Once they were making their way down the stairs to the underground parking structure’s entrance, Sam quickly overtook Dean and the angel, thanks to his longer legs, and he spoke to Castiel over his shoulder as he walked. 

‘Remember that photo I showed you, the one of the rock we found in that clearing in Portland?’ he began. ‘Well we found another one like it on display at the Fort Worth Museum of Science and History but...’

Castiel was gone before Sam could finish explaining, the soft sound of feathers ruffling was the only warning they got before he disappeared.

Sam stopped and threw his hands up in the air in frustration; he turned to glare at the spot where the angel had just been. ‘...it was a complete waste of time,’ he finished, his jaw clenching with emotion.

Dean couldn't help but bark out a brief laugh, shaking his head at his brother’s obvious annoyance. No matter how much exposure the Winchesters had had to Castiel’s disappearing trick, Cas just upping and leaving whenever he wanted, irrespective of what they were doing at the time, was harder for Sam to deal with because he had a lower tolerance for bad manners than Dean, or so Sam said. In Dean’s opinion, Sam’s bossy, control-freak tendencies had a bigger role to play in his younger brother’s frustration with the angel’s behaviour.

‘Why does he always do that?’ Sam growled, seemingly to no one in particular

Dean didn't even bother to respond, he stayed quiet for a moment or two, to let Sam try to vent some of the frustration that Castiel always managed to make him feel.

After Sam had ground his teeth, and made some interesting angry noises for a while, Dean judged it time to intervene and change Sam’s mood before his younger brother worked himself into a full-on snit. ‘Come on, Princess, let's put those over-developed jaw muscles of yours to work and go get some dinner,’ Dean said, slapping Sam's ass as he walked past him and towards the stairs. ‘Then we’ll head back to the motel, paint some anti-Cas symbols on _every_ flat surface, and you can show me just how flexible you really are,’ he teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, as he practically bounced down the stairs

Sam looked at Dean with a cynical expression. ‘Really?’ he asked, his voice sounding exasperated at his older brother’s behaviour.

Dean shrugged as he continued to make his way down the stairs.

Sam's sceptical voice echoed after him down the stairwell, ‘You are unbelievable, Dean!’

Dean smiled just that little bit wider: Sam always said the same thing but he never really complained when they actually got down and dirty, and Dean knew it was because he craved it just as much as Dean.

Sam's quick and heavy footsteps echoed around the stairwell, mixing with Dean's and making it sound like there was a small army of people descending down the stairs instead of just the two of them. Stopping abruptly, Dean turned around to look behind him, flashing Sam his best flirtatious smile. ‘You say that, Sammy,’ he drawled, ‘but I guarantee that you’re thinking of all the ways I could bend you over, right about now.’

As Dean spoke, Sam came to a stop on the step above him, his eyes darkening with lust at every word that fell from his older brother’s lips. Enjoying himself, and Sammy’s reaction, Dean smiled wickedly. He flicked the tip of his tongue out to lick his top lip suggestively and moved closer into Sam’s personal space, slipping a hand round behind Sam to cup a firm ass-cheek. Dean squeezed tightly and Sam's eyes flickered closed, a low groan forcing its way past his clenched teeth.

Dean knew that Sam understood exactly what Dean was indicating as being on the menu when they returned to their motel room, and he knew it would get Sam hot. After all, it was a rare occasion when Dean got down on his knees and got Sam off with his mouth, he preferred to have Sam in that position instead. His younger brother looked so pretty on his knees, between Dean's legs, and he never complained; always more than willing to be the one getting his face fucked. 

Laughing gently, Dean pulled away from Sam as his phone began to buzz insistently in his pocket. Sam's eyes fluttered open, a look of frustrated longing in his dark eyes. As Dean stepped backwards, Sam’s hands reached towards him in a futile attempt to keep his brother close. Dean smiled at Sam’s reaction and pulled his phone out from inside his jacket, briefly glancing at the caller ID before he raised it to his ear.

‘Hey, Bobby,’ he said, knowing his voice was probably giving away how turned on he felt. All that mattered, right now, was the promise he had just given Sam. The feeling of anticipation grew, low in his belly, as he briefly considered what else he might do with Sam when they were back at the motel. The less than satisfying outcome from interviewing Tad Anderson left Dean needing to work off some frustration and nervous energy, so he intended to have Sam in the most physical way he could and there was nothing Dean liked doing more with his free time. Glancing up at his brother, Dean bit his lower lip before licking his top lip again, watching as Sam's eyes dropped to focus on the action, his own tongue slipping out from between his slightly parted lips to mirror what Dean had just done.

Bobby's rough voice pulled Dean away from looking at his clearly interested brother and back to the conversation he was supposed to be having. Nodding his head slightly, Dean hummed in agreement to the question that Bobby had just asked him. Up until that point, he hadn't really been giving the conversation his complete attention and he decided that he better not piss off Bobby because they might need his help later on with tracking down Castiel’s rock-marking baddie.

Sam's eyes never left Dean’s lips as he spoke with Bobby. Sam watched as his brother’s mouth formed words and sounds, his eyes getting darker with every sweep Dean's tongue made over them. It filled Dean with a sense of power, knowing that such a simple act could get Sam worked up, practically ready to fall to his knees and start begging for it, for Dean. Dean loved knowing he could do that to him, that he had that power over Sam.

With a final word of thanks to Bobby for the information he was relaying, Dean hung up and stuffed his phone back into his pocket, smiling up at Sam as if Christmas had come early.

‘What have you done?’ Sam whined. He would deny it, if asked, but his tone of voice had definitely wandered into ‘sounding like a frustrated teenager’ territory and Dean would tease him for it, at a later date, when he wasn't so interested in keeping his sex life active.

Dean knew what he was about to do could be considered cruel, and unnecessarily mean after getting Sam worked up and wanting, but he never could resist an opportunity to keep Sam on edge. Dean enjoyed making Sam wait until he was quite literally begging on hands and knees for Dean to take him, fuck him, bite him to make him bleed and scream, make him forget how to breathe and just end his suffering. When Sam got like that, it did things to Dean that he wasn't too comfortable thinking about. To have Sam giving up complete control to him, with all that power and strength just shimmering under his younger brother’s skin, and Sam just laying there, only moving when Dean gave him the order. Doing anything and everything Dean asked of him, simply because it was Dean asking. No one else got to see that, got to have that power over Sam: it was all for Dean and he really didn't share well.

Dean took a deep, steadying breath before he spoke. ‘Bobby found us a job,’ he said, ‘so we need to get going, now.’ He didn't wait to see Sam's reaction, instead he darted down the last few steps and burst out through the exit that led to the parking garage, eager to get back to the grounding familiarity of the Impala. The sooner they hit the road, the sooner they could get this new job over and done with.

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his hair before following Dean to the car. Dean smiled to himself at Sam’s body language; Sam knew the game by now, knew the rules he had to play by when Dean got like this. Sure, he would do his best to work on Dean, to try and change his mind, to try and make Dean take him, one way or another, before Bobby’s new job was over and done with. But Sam also knew that, when Dean felt like this, half the fun for him was watching his Sammy squirm until he couldn’t take any more. It would be torture for the both of them - but also nothing like torture in comparison to what they had both endured during their experiences in Hell - and the building anticipation would make the reward at the end of the, hopefully, successful hunt that much sweeter. Just as long as they remembered to put up the anti-angel signs, Dean really didn't feel like taking his turn at having 'the talk' with the asexual angel, and explaining to him that what daddy was doing with mommy was perfectly natural. Well almost, it was pretty unnatural that Sam’s spine was so flexible and he could bend that much.

Smiling brightly, Dean pulled his keys out of his pants pocket. He had things to think about, on the drive back to the motel, that were most certainly all about the job Bobby had given them and most definitely not about the look on Sam's face when Dean told him about his future plans for what he could get Sam, and his flexible spine, to do.


	8. Blow Me Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yet again here we are sorry it took so long my lap top broke and I mean its fucked lost everything on it and then I had to wait for my brother to fuck off out the guest room so I could get my hands on the family computer. Just so you know there is some Twilight bashing in this chap and a little Goth hate but they are not my personal opinions I just thought it would be the sort of thing Dean would think. Oh and this one is a LONG one I mean 15 pages long. 
> 
> As always I own none of the characters. I hope you enjoy this one. Please review I mean it really please, please, please review no one seems interested and I would like to know what I am doing wrong. I hope you have a lovely day, night or afternoon witch ever one may apply. All the best, thanks and if you made it this far YAY! Please review, please for me?

Dropping his keys onto the small table next to the hotel room door Dean yanked his tie lose, nimble fingers pushing the top two buttons of his white shirt free of their holes. The moment he had set foot in the room his body relaxed, all the unease he had been feeling since he had started looking into this job more closely fading as Sam's lingering sent invaded his senses.

It had been a long evening and considering they already knew what they were hunting it was slightly alarming that it had taken him so long to gather the information he needed on the victims. But he supposed it didn't help that he had to go through their families to get said information.

He had spent the better part of three hours trudging from one house to another talking to distressed mums and disapproving fathers, listening to tales of how there sweet and innocent daughters had turned into gothic horror clichés before disappearing off the face of the Earth. 

Sighing Dean yanked the fridge door open, pulling a luke warm beer from inside. Leaning against the side he twisted the cap off, the ridged metal digging into his palm. Without even turning to look he threw it towards the sink, not really bothered if he missed because he knew that Sam would pick it up off the floor when he got back, his incapability to leave anything a mess getting the better of him. 

As he stood staring out the grubby windows across from him Dean let his mind wonder back to the case, pulling up detail after detail until he knew everything important of by heart. 

All the young girls had gone from being top of their classes, little Miss Virtues, rocking that standard Sunday school clothing range to skipping school, dressing like Morticia from the Adams Family and developing a taste for the undead. 

Personally he blamed Twilight. That soppy teenage angst fest was deluding people as to what actual vampires were like. Kids these days thought it was all sparkling in the sunlight and driving expensive cars when the reality was that they would rip your fucking throat out before you could even say TwiHard. 

What bothered him the most about the whole job though was that each house he had been too showed signs of a brake in, yet when he had mentioned it to the girl's parents they had looked at him as if he had grown an extra head, which wasn't unusual but still, he was pretending to be an FBI agent surely they would believe him about the brake in over anything else. 

The signs had been small, a small scuff on the outside window ledge, the locks on the windows broken open. Things had been moved, gone through but the disturbance had been minimal. It had been the work of a professional and for the life of him Dean couldn't think who would want to break into a 16 year olds room, it just wasn't vampire style. Sure they had been looking for something but for what he didn't have a clue, it wasn't like the victims had anything in common. Well there was one thing.

Bringing the bottle to his lips Dean took a long swig, draining half the contents in one go. Now all he had to do was wait for Sam to get back from the police station with all the missing people reports and then the two of them could head down to the local Goth club that just happened to be the last place any of the girls had been seen alive.

Dean wasn’t looking forward to it. He hated Goths. Hated there music, there sense of fashion, hated that the men looked just as much like the women and he always had to look at least twice before he started to flirt, hated that they seemed to have an unnatural obsession with black and all things undead. But then again on the plus side putting up with some Dracula wannabes wasn’t really that much of a hardship when he got to see Sam squirm.

He didn’t know what it was about Sam but for some reason the freaks just flocked to him, couldn’t get enough of him. Maybe it was his natural broody looks and the constant glaring at anyone who came within a 5 foot radius of him but whatever it was they loved it.

Every straight women and every guy that was even the slightest bit bent in the joint would swarm to him and Sam hated it with a passion. Hated the attention, the advances, the inappropriate propositions and would spend the entire night pressed as close as humanly possible to Dean’s side, draped around him like a coat. 

And that meant that Dean got to be the envy of everyone in the shitty little club, taking advantage of Sam’s discomfort in the worst possible way, enjoying the patrons heated gazes as they watched with rabid attention as Dean teased and taunted Sam, getting his blood pumping and gagging for it despite his embracement. He worked as pretty good bate as well. 

The door swung open startling Dean from his thoughts. Snapping his head to the side Dean watched as Sam shouldered the door closed, eyes glued to the file he held in his hands. He had a look of utter concentration on his face, so consumed with whatever he was reading he didn’t even notice Dean leaning against the counter. 

Without once looking up from the file Sam wordlessly chucked his keys onto the same small table where Dean had thrown his own and moved towards the dining table that they had dragged out of the small kitchen area and had left in the middle of the only clear space in the room, just so Sam could spread his legs out when he sat at it without constantly kicking Dean in the ankles. 

Dean wanted to scream at his brother’s complete and utter lack of self preservation. What if he was a demon or an angry angel out for revenge? He would be a big old pile of dead Sam right about now and he wouldn’t even know what had hit him. 

The chair made a high pitched squeal as it scraped along the wooden floor as Sam pulled it out from under the table, his large frame dropping into it with a soft thud. Now that Sam had his back to him Dean thought about chucking his bottle of beer at his brother’s head for being an ignorant little shit, but that would be a waste of perfectly good beer and Dean had spent a good few hours hustling pool to get the money to buy it. 

Smirking to himself Dean pushed away from the counter and as silently as he could made his way towards his blissfully unaware brother. With every step closer he got to Sam the angrier he got. He had taught Sam better than this. Had taught him to sweep a room as soon as he opened the door, it didn’t matter if it was there room or not, if Dean was there or not. Their lives depended on being cautious, on being prepared. 

Gently placing the bottle on the side Dean slipped his gun free of its usual hiding place down the back of his trousers. He would show Sam, teach him a lesson, would make the stupid boy see his mistake and beg for forgiveness.

In one quick movement Dean grabbed a fistful of Sam’s long hair yanking his head back, pushing the barrel of his gun against the underside of his jaw. Sam’s hands shot up, long fingers wrapping around Dean’s wrists, nails digging into the soft flesh as he tried to tear his hands free, his panic filled eyes impossibly wide. 

Pushing his gun harder into the underside of Sam’s jaw Dean growled low in his throat, tugging just that little bit harder on Sam’s hair causing him to gasp in pain. “You’re getting sloppy Sammy”. Sam’s eyes softened with realisation, his grip on Dean’s wrists loosening till his fingers where nothing more than a gentle cares. “Dean”.

The relief in Sam’s voice irritated Dean, slipping under his skin and clawing along the bone until all he wants is to smack the younger man across the face till he learned. Learned that what you can see, what you can hear wasn’t necessarily what was supposed to be, all the things that Sam should already know.

Yanking Sam’s head back even more Dean shoved his crotch forward, rubbing the back of Sam’s head against the hard bone of his hip. “Sorry Dean’s not available at the moment but feel free to leave a message and he'll get back to you as soon as possible”. Sam’s eyes widened in horror, his grip tightening on Dean’s wrists once more as he tried to jerk away from his captor. 

Laughing gently Dean pulled the gun away from under Sam’s chin and slowly slid it up his jaw to rub at the flush skin under his right eye. Sam’s breath caught in his throat, his body stilling as his dark eyes darted down to watch the silver barrel with trepidation as it rubbed dangerously close to his eye. 

Dean wasn’t sure why he did what he did next; maybe he had a few screws loose, most definitely. Maybe he was just that pissed off, most probably but the next thing he knew he was clicking the safety off, the sound echoing ominously around the room. 

Sam’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, his tongue slipping out to wet his dried lips. Dean’s cock gave a twitch of interest, a deliciously wicked thought springing to mind and Dean wondered how far he could push Sam, how far he would be able to go before Sam gave in, gave up, figured it out, called his bluff? 

“Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I thought Dean would have taught you better than this”. His voice was low, seductive and playful all at the same time. He hated it. Hated the sound of it falling from between his lips and rattling around his head, sounding far too much not his own. Like someone else was using it, testing it out, seeing what worked and what didn’t. 

But Sam liked it, Dean could tell from the way his breath hitched, his eyes darkening till they were almost black, his hips arching of the chair just lightly. He would have to remember that for another time, another day were he could stretch the younger man out and spend hours teasing him but not now. No he had a lesson to teach.

“Where’s Dean?” Sam was using his authoritive voice, the one that only made an appearance on hunts or if Dean had done something to really piss him off, the one that never failed to get Dean that little bit hot under his many layers of cloths. Absentmindedly Dean wondered with one this came under, maybe both because Sam had to be really pissed right about now. 

Yanking Sam’s hair Dean forcibly moved Sam’s head to the side so his cheek was rubbing against his half hard dick, the gun slipping across the bridge of Sam’s nose, only just missing his eye as it slid down the other cheek as Sam tried to jerk away in a pathetic attempt to free himself from Dean’s iron tight grasp.

Laughing darkly Dean slid the gun back up, using the barrel to push some of the fallen strands of Sam’s hair away from his face, exposing his narrowed and angry eyes as the young man glared up at him with hate and disgust.

Dean knew he should stop, that that look should make him drop the gun and apologise, fill him with an overwhelming sense of shame and disgust but all it did was make him that much harder, make him smile that much more menacingly down at his brother.

It was a whole new level of fucked up for him to be getting off on this. Sure they had role played a few times, the priest outfits being used one too many times for non job related tasks and Sammy had looked real good when they played Doctor but this? This was a whole new kind of low, getting off on being a demon or a shifter or whatever the fuck supernatural being he was pretending to be. 

It was wrong. It was so wrong he didn’t have enough words to descried how wrong it was but despite all that Dean found himself unwilling to stop, to into it to really think about what Sam would think of him when all this was over. “You didn’t seem that bothered about where he was a minute ago so why should I think you really care now?”

Sam jerked against Dean’s hold; his fingers digging into Dean's wrists hard enough to bruise. He was alight with anger, burning with it so brightly that Dean though he might go blind. “Screw you”. Sam spat the words at him, his full lips curling up in disgust as he sneered at Dean.

He should stop, Dean knew this but the anger in his brother’s eyes made it all that much more real, that much more tempting because there had to be a point where Sam would turn round and call him out, demand that he stop and put an end to this new twisted little game and Dean so desperately wanted to get there, to find Sam’s breaking point. 

Slipping the gun down slightly Dean rubbed the tip gently against the corner of Sam’s mouth, transfixed as the smooth metal caught on Sam’s plump lips, an idea curling open inside his head, his mind latching on with a sick sort of interest.

“All in good time Sammy. Now why don’t you open that pretty mouth of yours and show me what a good little cock sucker you are”. Horror flickered behind the anger in Sam's eyes as he glanced down at Dean’s now hard dick, swallowing audibly before glaring back up at Dean, clenching his jaw tightly shut. Good old Sam, defiant till the very end no matter who or what he was pissing off along the way. 

Dean faltered, so used to Sam just taking whatever Dean wanted him to that his little act of defiance left him stunned, staring down at his brother in shock. The moment passed quickly though, Dean snapping his mouth shut as he tightened his grip in the long silk strands, twisting them as he pulled Sam's head back, grinding his cheek against his hip. 

Sam gasped, his eyes slamming shut against the pain, tears welling in his eyes, threatening to fall with every breath he took. For a second Dean thought he had gone too far, had let things get to out of hand and had actually hurt Sam, the idea making him feel sick.

He was just about to untangle his fingers from Sam's hair, let the gun fall to the floor and drop to his knees, begging for his forgiveness when Sam's eyes snapped open, his pupils blown wide and as black as night. If he hadn't known it was impossible Dean would have thought him possessed. 

Dean laughed loudly, the bitter sweet sound ringing in his ears. He didn't know if he was laughing at the whole ridiculousness of the situation that they had found themselves in, his complete stupidity to think that a little hair pulling would actually hurt Sam considering he had done a hell of a lot worse over the past few months or at the look of determination in Sam's eyes. 

Smiling fondly down at his brother Dean rubbed the gun along Sam's lips, pushing gently against the seam. "Come on Sammy open up, you know you want to. You do it for Dean don't you? Spread them so easily for him and just let him fuck you like a cheap whore. Cos that's all you are Sammy, just an easy lay, a cheap thrill that will spread his legs for anyone as long as he's getting a good fuck out of it".

Dean felt sick as the words fell from his lips, none of them having a ring of truth to them. He hated himself for saying them to Sam. His Sammy who shone brighter than a burning star even after all the shit he had been through. Dean would make it up to him though. When all this was over, when they were finished he would crawl on hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. Kiss every inch of skin he could get to till Sam knew they had all been lies, that he didn't mean it. Till he knew that wasn't how Dean thought of him, ever. 

Sam glanced down, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes before he seemed to collect himself, preparing himself for what was coming. Glaring up at Dean Sam locked his eyes with his and ever so slowly opened his mouth. 

Smiling in triumph Dean briefly thought about unzipping his pants and shoving his aching length down Sam's throat. It would be good, always was. It would be tight and wet and hot and Sam would try his hardest to suck Dean's brains out, leaving him a gasping mess of bliss as he tried to remember how to breath but that wasn't what he wanted. Not at the moment anyway. 

Running the gun gently along Sam's bottom lip Dean winked at his brother before he shoved the barrel deep into his waiting mouth. Sam's eyes widened in panic as he choked on the skin warm metal, desperately trying to jerk his head away from the intrusion but Dean's grasp on his hair was tight, keeping his head pressed firmly against his hip. 

Licking his lips Dean gazed hungrily down at Sam's mouth, his eyes zeroing in on his full lips as the smooth metal of the gun slip over them, tugging against the plump flesh as he ever so slightly slid the barrel over Sam's tongue. "Come on Sammy, show me what you've got. Show me what good old Dean gets from his adoring baby brother".

Sam made a chocked cry of what Dean thought sounded a lot like distress around the gun and Dean couldn't help but think this was it. Sam was going to shake his head and tell him to fuck off. Call him out for being the sick freak he clearly was for getting off on this, on being something that they hated, that they killed on a regular basis. 

Sam wouldn't be able to look at him for days, wouldn't want Dean touching him for a good few weeks that was for sure and he would deserve it, would suffer Sam's cold shoulder without so much as a whispered protest because this was so wrong and he really shouldn't be enjoying it as much as he was. 

Sam swallowed around the intrusive object, his tongue forcing it that little bit further into his mouth. Dean watched, captivated as Sam closed his lips around the barrel of the gun and teasingly slow moved his mouth down the shaft before pulling back as far as Dean's grasp would let him, his cold eyes never once leaving Dean's and fuck that shouldn't be so hot. 

Dean didn't even know he had been holding his breath until the need to breath began to crash in on him. Gasping he pulled in a lung full of much needed air, his oxygen starved lungs burning as they were filled. His heat slammed against his ribcage, threatening to burst free at any moment, his pulse thundering in his ears. 

Dean couldn't believe the trust that Sam was placing in him, the utter control he was giving up. If his finger so much as twitched then it was goodbye Sammy hello bleeding corpse with a hole in it face but Sam trusted him not to let that happen. Sam trusted him. 

That thought alone filled Dean with a happiness like no other. Just knowing that even after everything they had done to each other, put the other through, Sam still trusted him enough to put his life willingly into Dean's hands and let him do whatever he wanted. Trusting that he would come out of it alive, without more than a few shallow cuts and bruises as evidence of what they had done. It made Dean's heart swell with love and his body with happiness. It was one of the best feelings Dean had ever experienced. 

Licking his dry lips Dean smiled softly down at Sam, transfixed as he worked his mouth over the smooth metal, mimicking the sinfully sweet things he had done to Dean only a few hours ago. Groaning Dean rocked his hips forward slightly remembering what it felt like to have Sam working him with his hot mouth, making him forget almost everything except how good it felt and Sam's name that seemed to always turn into a constant chant.

Sam pulled back as far as he could, opening his mouth wide around the gun, his skilled tongue darting out to lick round the end before it darted into the hole, a sick parody of what he normally did when he had Dean's dick in his mouth. 

Groaning at the obscene image in front of him Dean yanked on Sam's hair forcing his head forward. The gun slid back into Sam's excepting mouth, his cheek rubbing slightly against Dean's straining member as he tried to take more of the gun in. Dean's pleasure filled groan mixed with Sam's wanton moan as he sucked the gun in deeper, working his mouth faster and harder. 

Suspicion started to gnaw at Dean's all consuming desire and reluctantly he tore his eyes away from his brothers stretched and abused lips to glance down quickly before his attention was yanked buck up as Sam rubbed his cheek purposely against Dean's trapped erection. 

Sam was hard, his dick straining against the black cotton of his suit trousers, his hips jerking forward slightly as he sought out friction that just wasn't there. The image mixed with the desperate needy little sounds that Sam was making were going straight to Dean's cock, the pressure in his gut building with every little whimper that escaped from between Sam's swollen lips. 

Fixing his gaze on Sam's wide dark eyes Dean tried to calm himself down. It wouldn't do to blow his load without being touched like some inexperienced teenager who didn't even know what a bra was let alone how to unhook one. 

All the anger had gone from Sam's eyes now, replaced by love and lust but most importantly of all trust. Sam's eyelids fluttered closed, his long lashes fanning out over the top of his cheek bones as he moaned Dean's name around a mouthful of metal, sucking the gun just that little bit deeper into the back of his throat. 

Realisation hit Dean hard in his gut, twisting next to the pleasure that had slowly but surely been consuming his body and mind. Sam knew, had probably known the moment he walked in that Dean was there and had just chosen to ignore him to get a rise out of him, though Dean doubted that this was what he had been expecting. 

Dean didn't know whether to laugh, cry or just get on with it. The little shit had been playing him from the start and Dean had just played straight into his hands. How could he have been so stupid, of course Sam knew, he wouldn't have let anyone get this close to him but Dean. Wouldn't let anyone but Dean use and abuse him in such a way. He had just been so caught up in his anger and then lust to really think about what was happening. 

Tightening his grasp in Sam's hair Dean yanked his head back, stilling his almost frantic movements on the gun. Sam gasped at the sudden pain, his lips opening wide. Dean took the opportunity to slip the gun free from the warm wet cavern, a trail of saliva connecting it to Sam's plump abused bottom lip. 

Sam's eyes were as big as saucers as he glanced up at Dean, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed red as he gasped for breath. The whole scene looked utterly filthy, like it would be at home in the middle of a porn'o. Admittedly a very genre pacific porn'o but a cheap thrills skin video none the less. Quickly Dean made a mental note of what to ask of Sam for Christmas before he focused all his attention on his brother. 

Keeping his hold on Sam's hair Dean lent forward, bending at the waist so he could gently place his spit covered gun on the table, the soft clinking noise it made against the metal top sounding as loud as if he had fired it in the silent room. Pulling back slightly Dean pulled Sam's head up and round so Sam had to lift his ass off the chair or risk Dean pulling chunks of his hair out. 

Placing his lips next to Sam's ear Dean looked ahead at the grubby, dirt streaked windows, keeping his balance with a hand pressed over his gun, the hard metal digging painfully into his palm. He kept his voice low and light, almost like he was teasing Sam. "You conniving little bitch".

Sam's eyes widened impossibly more, his lips parting as he gasped, probably about to protest the harsh words or continue their little game but Dean wasn't going to let him distract him with his long words and pleads from more. "You've been playing me from the start haven't you? And to think I was so close to giving in".

Slowly Dean swiped his tongue round the shell of Sam's right ear drawing a deep groan from his brothers lips. Pushing his lips right against Sam's ear Dean smiled, looking forward to the next part more that he probably should considering he was rock hard and ready to go, but he had set out to teach Sam a lesson and that was just what he was going to do.

"Shame on you Sammy". With that he pushed away from the table, loosening his hold on Sam's hair so his fingers could slide free of the long locks. Sam groaned in disappointment as he slumped back into the chair, his body going limp after being pulled taught for so long. 

Moving away from Sam Dean picked up his discarded beer bottle, taking a long swig to quench his sudden thirst, though he knew it was something completely different he was thirsting after but he couldn't have that, not yet anyway. In a few days he would drink his fill until he felt sick with it.

Smirking Dean leant against the small kitchen counter, the wooden top digging painfully into his side as he watched Sam try and regain control over his body. His large hands were scrunched up into tight fists on his knees, pulling the skin tight across his knuckles, skin flushed an angry red all the way down his neck and disappearing into the collar of his crisp white shirt. He was glaring down at the gun that Dean had left on the table with such anger that Dean was sure it was going to melt at any moment from the intensity. "Dean". 

Dean couldn't help but laugh as Sam threw his head back, all anger and seriousness being chased away by the puppy dog eyes and a pleading pout as he whined Dean's name like a spoilt little brat. Finishing his beer Dean waved the empty bottle towards Sam, a bright smile lighting up his face, his enjoyment of his brothers distress probably a lot more obvious than it should be but oh well, Sam knew he liked to do this to him so he really should have seen it coming.

"Nah ah Sammy, you know the rules". And he did know, knew them better than Dean did. He had memorised them as soon as Dean had set them which was really great, half the time. Sam followed the rules to a T, doing things before Dean could even ask for them but it also meant that the sneaky little git that Sam was knew every single way to get around them, which had lead Dean to set very specific ones like no laying naked face down on a bed with the magic fingers turned on. He had learned that lesson the hard way. 

Gentle knocking at the door pulled Dean away from his very x-rated trip down memory lane and back to his rather annoyed brother in the here and now. Still smiling widely he placed the empty bottle on the side before slowly making his way back to the door, never once taking his eyes off his pouting brother. "Oh an your cleaning my gun. You got all slobber over it". 

Sam shoot him his standard bitch face over his shoulder making Dean laugh at just how annoyingly adorable Sam looked when he was pissed. Still laughing Dean yanks the hotel rooms door open expecting to find a maid wishing to change the towels or the manger questioning them about the card being refused. What he wasn't expecting was to come face to face with a scowling Cas, standing in the doorway with his arms folded tight over his chest, looking every bit as deadly as he was.

Instantly Dean's laughter died in his throat, his smile falling. "Erm hay Cas, what ya doing out there?" Dean stepped aside letting the angel stalk past him in a flurry of tan trench coat and concealed attitude. "I couldn't get in".  
Castiel's voice was its usual rough, monotone drivel that still managed to have a slight tang of annoyance to it, though unless you knew the guy as well-ish as they did you would never have noticed it. Cas stalked into the middle of the room only stopping once he was standing next to Sam, spinning around to level Dean with his serious too blue eyes that made him want to flinch when they were fixed on him so intensely. 

Dean laughed nervously as he shut the door, his eyes darting up to the Enochian sign he had carved into the door the moment they had got to the hotel in Fort Worth and you know not to mention the other like twenty that he had scattered around the room making it impossible for an angel to get in unless they used the plain old human way. Well unless they just used their angel powers and reduced the hotel to a pile of rubble, which was something he really didn't want to be thinking about at the moment. 

He hadn't really thought about it which was kind of the story of his life so it shouldn't surprise anyone that he had just done it without thinking about the consequences first. All he had wanted was some uninterrupted time alone with Sam. Selfish of him yer but it was starting to become a habit of Castiel's to drop in just when they were getting to the good stuff and Sam hadn't stopped him like he normally would. Hadn't ever given him a slight disapproving look over the top of his laptop so he had needed it just as much as Dean had. 

"Weren't defeated by a big bad door were ya Cas?" Dean regretted the teasing words as soon as they left his mouth, Castiel's scowl darkened slightly, his narrowing and Dean was sure the sky hadn't been that dark a minuet ago. "I'll get rid of them".

Smiling nervously Dean spun away from Cas's piercing blue eyes and back to the door franticly thinking of a way to get the sign off. He could scratch it off but that run the risk of turning it into something possibly worse before better. He could always set fire to the door, maybe chuck some acid over it, whatever was quickest would be the best.

Dean was man enough to admit that Cas had the ability to scare the crap out of him. He was a powerful angel of the Lord after all and had the ability to smite people which admittedly was kind of kool and could come in incredibly useful but Dean never wanted to be on the receiving end of that, ever. Fuck it he was going to burn them off. They would be long gone before a maid even though about setting foot in the room.

Spinning back around to face the still scowling angel Dean smiled widely, quickly making his way over to his jeans that lay discarded on the bed, rooting around in the pockets until his fingers closed around the cool metal of his lighter. Now all he needed was some kind of accelerant. "So find anything?"

Did distraction work on angels? Dean really hoped so because the only kind of accelerant he had was a can full of gasoline and that was in the trunk of the impala six floors below them. But luckily for Dean Cas took the bait, his scowl turning back into his usual slight frown. "It was most...unuseful".

Sam snorted, an annoyed half smile pulling up the corners of his lips. "I could have told you that". Dean couldn't help but smile even more. It was a rare thing for Sam to be openly pissed at Cas and sure maybe in might be slightly Dean's fault for keeping him on edge for so long that patience now wasn't one of Sam's virtues at the moment but he hadn't done it intentionally, really he hadn't. Plus he was annoyingly adorable when he got all pissie. 

Dean could see the clogs turning in Castiel's mind as he tipped his head slight to the side in that confused puppy look he now had down to an art as he tried to process why Sam would let him go to the museum if he had known it was going to be a waste of his time. 

As he went to open his mouth, no doubt about to voice that very thought Dean cut across him, hoping to prevent a pointless argument that would just piss them both off more than they already were. "So what now?"  
Both of them turned to look at Dean, two sets of eyes boring into him making his skin prickle. With his head still tilted to the side Cas stared at him, his brows creased in concentration and not for the first time Dean felt like Cas was seeing more than just his fleshy outside. Snapping his head back up Cas's hard gaze softened slight, his blue eyes not as intense as they had been before. 

"Now I try and follow its trail. It has already left a body in Salt Lake City and if I..." Dean's whole body jerked forward as Castiel said body, every nerve on alert. Sam whipped his head round eyes wide as he stared at Cas in disbelief. "Wait, what? Body, what body?" Dean looked expectantly at the blank faced angel waiting for an answer, uncaring the he had cut him off mid way through his explanation. 

They had driven through Salt Lake City on their way to Fort Worth, if they had just missed the damned thing then Dean would...well he wasn't really sure what he would do but it was probably going to hurt, a lot. "A women was found bled dry in an abandoned warehouse. She had a hand print burned into her throat". 

Dean's eyes widened slightly. The women had had a hand print burned into her just like Tad had except he had lived to tell the tale. Well sort of, not if you could call being locked away in a crazy house for the rest of his life living but at least he was still alive, that had to count for something, right? 

"When?" Sam growled out the question between clenched teeth, glaring daggers at the angel. Dean knew that Sam was thinking the same thing he had been, knew he was mentally retracing there footsteps. "Three days ago".  
Dean slammed his eyes shut, blocking out Castiel's dull voice and the look of horror on Sam's face. Three days ago they had passed through Salt Lake City. Three days ago they had passed by a killer who they were trying to hunt and now an innocent women was dead. Three days ago they had missed their chance. 

Dean wasn't stupid, he knew they couldn't save everyone but the injustice of it was enough to make his blood run cold and hate bubble inside of him. "Dean". Opening his eyes Dean's gaze locked with Sam's, wide emotion filled eyes staring back at him begging him to make it right, make some sort of sense of the crazy Cas had dumped on them. But he couldn't.

They were researching every available second they got but the closest they had come to finding anything remotely fitting the description Tad had given them was a demon and/or an angel and Cas had been adamant that it was impossible for an angel demon hybrid to exist, something about one side constantly trying to kill the other before the host body just upped and died, the body being burned up long before either side became the dominate one. 

Bobby was going through all his books in hope that something might turn up. He was even asking other hunters to let him know if they came across anything similar but everything had turned up a blank and they were quickly running out of options. "So what, you just going to wait for this thing to leave another body behind?"

Sam was staring at Cas again, that same annoyed disbelieving look in his eyes, that one look demanding that Castiel answer him. Dean had to admit it was a fair question, one that they shouldn't have to be asking but you could never be too sure about the lengths an angel was willing to go to. 

They had done a lot of stupid things in their lives but purposely waiting for a monster to kill a bunch of innocent people so they could follow the trail of bloodless corpses it left behind? That was a whole new level of stupidly low even for them. 

Shifting nervously Dean lowed his gaze to the floor. He didn't want to know the answer. Didn't want to hear Cas say that he was really considering letting innocent people die just so he had a way of tracking something that seemed almost untraceable. "Right, you best be on your way then. We would love to stay and chat but we are in the middle of a case that needs out urgent attention." 

As he was talking, his voice holding all that false bravado that he was so well known for Dean stalked back towards the unbelievably naive angel, grabbing him tightly by the elbow and dragging him back towards the door.   
Confusion flickered briefly across Castiel's stern features as Dean yanked the door open and shoved him out into the hallway with a little more force than was strictly necessary but it wasn't like it had much of an effect on the angel other then prompting him to take the few steps that had him going from being in the room to outside it. 

Moving quickly Dean pulled the door closed slightly, filling the small gap with his body, blocking Castiel's view of the room behind him. Dean knew that if Cas really wanted him to move so he could get back in there shitty little room he wouldn't stand a chance of stopping the angel. 

He suffered no delusions that Cas was one hundred times stronger than he ever would be and could probably brake his face with a well placed poke if he should ever want to, not that Cas ever would want to, hopefully.   
Staring up at Dean Cas tilted his head slightly, his bright knowing eyes boring into him, searching for something that Dean wasn't sure he wanted the angel to find. Stepping away from the door Cas nodded curtly before spinning away from Dean and stalking down the dingy corridor, his trench coat billowing out behind him. As he reached the end of the corridor soft rustling filled the air, a sound Dean now only associated with angels coming and going. And just like that Cas was gone, disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

Sighing Dean gently pushed the door closed, the soft click of the lock catching sounding to loud in the now silent room. Unease set heavy in Dean's heart as his mind reeled from the new information it had taken Cas all but two minutes to divulge.

They had known that bodies would start turning up eventually, knew that whatever it was wouldn't stay silent for long but one day? They knew demons who had waited longer than that just for the fun of it. 

"Dean?" Sam's questioning voice cut through Dean's thoughts, that one word holding so much weight behind it that it was enough to make Dean want to scream. "I know Sam". Dean slumped back against the door, all his energy draining from his weary body. He didn't know how much more of this he would be able to take.

He used to love this job, years ago when he was young to cocky to know any better. But know it just seemed that every corner they turned, every path they stumbled down there was one big bad after another just waiting for them. Waiting for their chance to sink there claws in and rip them apart, blood and guts flying through the air and painting the walls of whatever dive they found themselves in that week. But hadn't they already given enough? 

They had been tortured, hunted, used, possessed, played against one another, had lost nearly every one they had ever given a shit about and stood on the drink of apocalypse countless times and that was only in the last few years. They had died more times than was natural, being shot, stabbed and even ripped apart by hellhounds and that wasn't even going into the endless Tuesdays that Sam had been forced to endure at the hands of a twisted angel who liked to play dress up, his preferred costume being that of the most annoying little prick the world had to offer. 

Dean had held Sam's dying body in his arms as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding, all the while Sam had been choking on his own blood. Sam had died in his arm that night, just fading out of existence whilst Dean had screamed out his name, telling him that it would all be okay, that Dean would look after him because it was his job, his real job. He had been left holding the empty corpse of the one thing that meant more to him than anything else in the world including his own life. Wasn't that enough?

They had endured everything that fate had thrown at them and yet the world still wanted more but there wasn't much more they could give. Nothing left for the universe to take from them except their lives and each other and when it came down to that neither one of them would give up without one hell of a fight. 

Dean gasped in shock as Sam wrapped his long arms around his waist, pulling Dean's smaller body tight against his chest, his head dropping forward to rest on Dean's shoulder. So caught up in his own thoughts Dean hadn't even registered his brother moving, something that seemed to becoming a regular occurrence. 

Sighing Dean tipped his head forward so his cheek was resting against Sam's chest, his arms slipping around Sam's waist, his hands sliding up Sam's back to rest between his shoulder blades. They stood there in silence, neither one of them feeling the need to speak pointless words to fill the silence, the gentle rise and fall of Sam's chest lulling Dean into a hazy calmness. 

It didn't matter how many times Dean told Sam that he would always look out for him, take care of him the unspoken answer was always there. Sam would always return the favour, giving him whatever he needed to carry on surviving day buy day. He would do it in silence and with a gentle smile because he knew Dean, knew he didn't need fancy words. All he needed was Sam's reassuring touch, his calming presence, his hungry glances and loving kisses. He just need Sam. 

Sam's hot breath fanned across Dean's neck as he turned his head, nuzzling against the exposed flesh. "What now?" Sam's mumbled words vibrated against Dean's breath warmed skin, sending tiny shivers down his spine. What now? The big question that they always seemed to be asking themselves. 

Dean didn't have a clue what came next. They had just let an angel walk away who had every intention to let innocent people die just so he could get a few steps closer to finding the thing that had done the seemingly impossible and they had done nothing to stop him. Dean had even gone as far as to chuck him out before they could even try because he knew it would have just been a waist of breath. 

Nothing they could have said to Cas would have changed his mind, would have convinced him to stop and really think over what he was suggesting because he wasn't human and it didn't matter how much time he spent on earth slumming it with them learning there ways, learning what it meant to be human he just wasn't. He couldn't see things the way they did, couldn't feel things like love and shame and sorrow like a human could. 

Taking a deep breath Dean tightened his hold on his brother, his blunt nails digging into his black blazer. "We gear up. We have five girls to find and a nest of Twilight wannabes to put down before the sun comes up". He felt Sam sigh against his neck, his grip tightening on Dean's waist just the little bit more. "Best get changed then".

Sam pressed a quick kiss to Dean's neck before he pulled away, slipping easily from Dean's grasp. Dean's arms automatically fell to his side, his hands feeling heavy as if they were made of lead. Unmoving Dean watched as Sam moved around the room, sliding his jacket off his shoulders and chucking it over the back of the chair he had been sitting in as he made his was over to his bed, pulling his black tie lose as he went.

Pulling his duffle across the dirt brown sheets Sam started to rummage through its depths, no doubt looking for something that was both appropriate for a club yet still ideal for a job. He looked so calm and relaxed, unaffected by anything that was going on around them and Dean couldn't help but hate him a little for that. 

Okay so maybe hate was too strong a word, he could never truly hate Sam no matter what. He disliked greatly Sam's ability to just switch it all off and get on with the job at hand, resented the fact that he could detach himself from there fucked up lives so easily. 

Dean would admit that he didn't cope that well, only to himself mind you, he couldn't let Sam know he was that pathetic, that weak. He drank like a fish these days, drowning his sorrows in cheap beer and whisky strong enough to put a normal guy to sleep, but over the years he had built up a intolerance and now he needed to drink twice as much to just get that numbing buzz that only being drunk could give him.

He hated that Sam just seemed to so easily distinguish between the job and life, not letting the guilt from the first weigh down the second but it hadn't always been like that. Before his time in Hell, before all this Lucifer's true vessel crap Sam had been the most guilt ridden person Dean had ever known. Even the slightest little thing weighed him down like a tonne of bricks, taking the blame for things that were out of their control.

But since the cage something had changed. Something inside of Sam had shifted and he no longer got that look of utter failure when they came across someone they couldn't save, when a demon made sure the person it had crawled into wouldn't be getting up again once they were yanked out, when they made a mistake and salt and burned to wrong bones and someone else got killed because of them. 

Sure he still felt the sadness of losing an innocent person but the guilt that they had failed them just wasn't there and Dean couldn't understand why. He had made the decision long ago to ask his brother about it, to demand to know how he could be so unaffected by what they did but when it came down to it he could never get the words out, could never bring himself to shatter that small piece of happiness - if you could call it that - that Sam had managed to find in there fucked up little world. 

Sighing Dean pushed himself away from the door, making his way over to the other bed because they still asked for two queens out of habit though nine times out of ten they slept in the same bed and his bag that he had chucked on it that morning when they had first stumbled into the room. 

He would ask San about it later, really he would, at some point, in the near-ish future but right now they had a job to do. Things to hunt, people to save and all that jazz. You know the thing they did best when they weren't setting off apocalypses and generally fucking things up. 

Pulling out his best jeans, the only ones he owned that weren't blood stained and threatening to fall apart at any moment, Dean glanced at his brother, watching as he pulled off his cloths, his white shirt falling to the floor discarded. 

Sam was perfect. Annoyingly perfect with his almost flawless tanned skin stretched over tight muscles that were a result of years worth of excessive exercise and his ridicules apple pie smile that made every women swoon the moment they saw it. Dean's eyes darted down to Sam's hands, lingering on the ring of deep purple bruises that wrapped around his wrist, standing out in beautiful ugly contrast to his golden skin. 

They were Dean's claim to him, physical proof that Sam belong to him. It was just a shame they would be gone after a week or so but then he would get the pleasure of putting them back but maybe next time around his neck then he really wouldn't be able to hide them and every one would know he belonged to Dean. 

As Dean watched him Sam pulled a black button up shirt out of his bag, the one that clung to him in all the right places and in the right light seemed to shine like wet leather. It was guaranteed to get all the little Goths hot and gasping for it and if he kept the collar open like Dean knew he would all the vamps would come running for a chance to sink their fangs into his long neck and suck him dry. 

The perfect bait and so what if it was a little bit of payback for when Sam had let him get turned. Sam hadn't had a soul though back then so he couldn't really hold it against him but that didn't mean he still couldn't make him suffer if only a little, plus seeing Sammy squirm as some vampire wannabe tried to get him to go all submissive under their charm and 'awesome' seduction skills never failed to make Dean's day that little bit sweeter. 

Leaving his cloths abandoned on the bed Sam turned and headed into the bathroom leaving the door wide open. It was an invitation Dean knew that, after all their time together Dean could read Sam's not so subtle hints like he had screamed them at him and sure enough just seconds later the shower groaned to life, the old pipes clanging their protest as hot water was forced through them and out of the cheap plastic shower head. 

Dean flung himself back onto the bed only just missing his bag, listening to the sounds coming from the small bathroom. It would be so easy to strip off and slip in behind Sam, let him and the hot water wash away his troubles if only for a few blissful minuets. 

Rubbing a rough hand over his tired eyes Dean scowled up at the ceiling and the ugly ass Enochian symbol glaring back at him. When had things ever been easy for them? Never that's when, so why should he break the habit of a lifetime and start now? It didn't look like the future was going to buck the trend and give them a break so he might as well just suck it up and get on with it, except his fate and all the bullshit that came hand in hand with doing that.

A low grown floated through the air only just audible over the patter of water hitting the bottom of the plastic tub. Dean's cock gave a twitch of interest, the familiar sound sending a shiver of desire down his spine, heat pooling in his belly. Licking his suddenly dry lips Dean turned to look at Sam's bed taking in his he scattered cloths and the few books he had strewn across the sheets from that morning. 

Staring at the black shirt that Sam was about to spend the night in Dean tried not to think of what his brother was doing, tried not to picture how he looked with one hand braced against the cracked tiled wall, his head tipped forward under the warm spray, the water dripping of his long hair and sliding over his naked skin, his eyes shut tightly, full lips parted slight as he breathed deeply, the muscles in his arm flexing as he leisurely moved his hand over his hard length. 

Another deep moan pulled Dean from his traitorous thoughts, reminding him that the real thing was just a few feet away, willing to do whatever Dean asked of him, eager for it even. Pushing himself up onto his elbows Dean glared down at his tented trousers, trying to will his erection away. They had rules god damn it and someone had to try and follow them cos it was clear that Sam had no desire to. 

Dean's head shot up as Sam gasped out his name all wanton and begging, that one word braking his resolve like a hammer to a sheet of glass. Scrambling off the bed Dean hurriedly made his way towards the bathroom pulling his shirt off over his head as he went, buttons be damned. 

He had never been one for excepting fate, had never been the one to lay back and take it like a bitch so why start now? No point in kicking the habit this far down the line and any way it would save on water which would help the environment and shit so he could count it as his good deed for the day...right?


	9. Bite To Brake The Skin And Let The Blood Flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt is on and Hope is almost theirs for the taking, if only they could stay alive long enough to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So finally a new chapter sorry it took me so long life has been kind of busy the last few weeks and this is a long one. As always nothing belongs to me apart from Hope and i hope you review. All the best and all that jazz. Thanks for reading.

Slumping back against the small table he had been standing next to for the last twenty minutes Sam glared at the women across the bar from him, willing her to get the message and just fuck right the hell off but it seemed the more he glared at her the more interested she got, her hooded eyes darkening with every passing second. 

She was dressed how Sam imagined a high class Victorian prostitute would in a deep red corset covered in black lace forcing her breasts up, making them look like the slightest movement would cause them to tumble free of their confines. Her long black silk skirt was slit up one leg exposing her pale flesh and the black heeled boots she was wearing. 

Winking she blew him a kiss, her tongue running what she probably thought was seductively across her fake fangs but only left Sam skin tingling in disgust. Flinching Sam pushed himself back against the rickety table, the edge digging painfully into his lower back. 

He felt sick, this whole place making his skin crawl and his head hurt. His fingers itched to wrap around the handle of the knife he could feel pressing against his thigh, tucked safely inside the waistband of his jeans and brandish it at anyone who dared to invade his personal space. 

Sighing Sam pulled his gaze away from the smirking women and dragged his eyes around the club for what seemed like the hundredth time, taking in his surroundings. The lights were dim casting the edges of the room in shadows, the dark furniture and deep velvet drapes that lined the walls making the shadows seem that much deeper, the room that little much darker. 

The only part of the room that was cast in something that even resembled half decent light was the wrap around bar in the middle of the room. Though Sam suspected that was only so the staff could see what undead themed cocktails they were making because god forbid they use tomato juice instead of cranberry.

The music wasn’t any better, stuck somewhere between Goth and some sort of techno, the singer sounding like he was in pain as he sung – if you could call it that – about sex and blood and the eternal children of the night. The constant thumping beat was pushing painfully against Sam’s skull and making him want to pull his own hair out.

He couldn’t understand how people listened to stuff like this, how they could even call it music. If it ever came down to a choice between this and rock he would chose the latter, rather wanting to spend the rest of his life only ever listening to Dean’s outdated ‘classic’ rock cassette collection if it meant he would never have to here this noise ever again. It would quite literally be music to his ears compared to this, not that he would ever tell Dean that, then he would never get out of having that crap on all the time. 

Sam jerked out of his thoughts as sharp nails scratched against the exposed flesh of his neck. Snapping his head round he only just resisted the temptation to reach out and grab the wondering hand and snap every finger that had come into contact with him. 

The guy who had had the balls to touch him smirked teasingly at him over his shoulder, black hair falling in front of his twinkling blue eyes as he brought his long fingers up to his lips and sucked the tips into his waiting mouth, moaning around the digits. 

Quickly Sam did a mental check, trying to take stock of his possible injuries. He didn’t think he was bleeding but then again he hadn’t noticed that the Wendigo last month in Boston had taken a swipe at his leg until Dean had pointed in out, going all high pitched and squeaky when he noticed the blood that had soaked through his jeans and was dripping down his leg. 

Raising his hand Sam traced over the tingling skin with the soft pads of his fingers. He could feel the slightly raised skin, three thin lines running down the side of his neck and over his collar bone. The sensitive flesh itched under his touch sending small shivers down his spine. 

Slowly pulling back his hand a wave of relief flooded over him, easing some of the tension he could feel knotting his muscles and making his body ache. There was no blood; the guy hadn’t even broken the skin. Scoffing Sam let his hand fall back to his side; he had received more damage from stray branches over the years. That didn’t mean he still didn’t want to break the guys hand, watch him scream and beg for Sam to stop and that was only if Dean didn’t get there first because he would do a lot more than break his hand. 

Folding his arms tight over his chest he turned his head away from the man that had disappeared back into the crowed to resume glaring at the trampy women across from him, trying to think up the best way to get her to move on to someone more willing that didn’t involve throwing his knife at her or screaming. “You know if you stare hard enough she might actually burst into flames”. 

Sam snapped his head to the side at the familiar voice, his ridged posture relaxing as soon as his eyes landed on his brother. Holding out his hand Dean waved a bottle of what Sam really hoped was beer at him but the glass was black and the label written in some foreign language that he couldn’t quite understand but he suspected it was probably Romanian considering the kind of club they were in. 

Snatching the bottle out of Dean’s hand Sam wrapped his long fingers around the bottle neck and brought it up to his lips. Fuck it, as long as it was alcoholic he didn’t really give a shit, just as long as it didn’t actually have blood in it he would be fine. Taking a deep drag of the slightly chilled liquid Sam groaned in satisfaction around the rim.

They didn’t normally drink on jobs; it was a general unspoken rule between the two of them. Alcohol clouded your judgment, made you slow and stupid and they just couldn’t afford to be like that in there line of work, but there was the odd occasion when a job required it. When they were at places like this and they needed to blend in they would stick out like a saw thumb because if you where at a club and you weren’t drinking you might as well have a bright neon sign above your head.

But they had years of practice now and one beer could last them all night, even if Sam wanted to down the one he was holding and go order at least another three just so he could feign ignorance the next day when Dean questioned him about why he had thrown his bottle at that women’s head because she was still fucking staring at him like he was naked and smothered in blood, a sign hanging round his neck that said bite me on it. 

In a last ditch attempt to try and get people to leave him alone Sam slid up next to Dean, pushing his side tight against his brothers silently asking for protection. Sam glared down at his brother as he started to laugh, his whole body shaking as he tried to keep himself from laughing to loudly. He didn’t find any of this funny, least of all the unwanted attention he was getting but Dean had always found anything that made Sam uncomfortable to be amusing. 

Shaking his head Dean finally managed to gain control of himself, slipping his arm around Sam’s waist and pulling him tight against his side. Instantly Sam relaxed, his anger fading as Dean slipped his fingers under the hem of his shirt to gently rub over his hip bone. 

Dipping his head forward Sam rested his forehead against the top of Dean’s head, his short hair tickling his nose. Turning his body till his front was pressed tight against Dean’s side Sam curled his body around his brothers, loving the way they slotted together so perfectly. 

It was hard to explain the feeling he got when he was wrapped around Dean like this, his brothers strong arms holding him tight against him. It made him feel like that little boy all those years ago when Dean had just been his kool big brother who would slip into the back seat of the Impala or into Sam’s bed whenever he had a nightmare and pull him close, holding Sam’s small frame against his body all the while whispering that everything was okay, it wasn’t real, that he was safe because Dean wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

And Sam supposed that was how he felt in moments like this, whether they were in a crowded bar or Sam was curled around Dean in bed. He felt safe and loved, like nothing could hurt him, like he was invincible as long as he had Dean by his side. Just like he had when he was still too young to understand what it was his family really did, when monsters had just been things in books and films.

He felt Dean’s hot breath fan across his exposed skin as he turned his head to press his warm lips against the three scratches on his neck, his hot tongue slipping over the raised flesh. A small gasp escaped from between Sam’s parted lips, the hand that he was clutching his beer with coming up to grasp tightly at the front of Dean’s black tee. 

Dean’s hot breath puffed out against Sam neck as he laughed gently, sending shivers of anticipation down Sam’s spine. An embarrassingly loud groan feel from between his lips as Dean dragged his teeth against the already tingling skin and Sam found himself wanting Dean to bite down, to mark him, claiming him as his own.

Sam’s whole body jerked forward, grinding his half hard dick into his brother’s thigh as Dean bit down hard, sucking the abused flesh into his hot mouth. Sam had never really been into the whole vampire gimmick thing but right now he would have no problem with Dean breaking the skin and drinking his fill of Sam’s blood. He gave everything else up to Dean so why not this, why not his life? 

All too soon though Dean was pulling away, Sam flesh slipping free of his mouth with a wet pop. Shifting slight Dean moved so Sam wasn’t pressed so tight against his side. Breathing quickly Sam lifted his head from Dean’s, his hand still clutching at the front of his t-shirt. 

Sam neck stung pleasantly where Dean had bit down and Sam knew that there were teeth marks on his skin, knew that the flesh around them was red and purple from were Dean had been sucking his blood closer to the surface. Another mark to add to his ever growing collection.

Smirking Dean raised his own bottle to his lips taking a long swig. His green eyes were sparkling with amusement as he stared almost triumphantly at something in front of him. Frowning Sam slowly turned to see what had Dean’s attention all of a sudden, his eyes lingering on his brother before they too snapped forward. What he saw made him smile brightly, his body humming with satisfaction. 

The women who had been staring at Sam since Dean had abandoned him to go get there drinks looked as if someone had slapped her round the face. Her mouth was hanging open slightly exposing her cheap fangs, her brown eyes wide and full of disbelief. Smiling widely Sam had to fight the urge to stick his tongue out at her. 

Slowly he uncurled his fingers from Dean’s shirt and brought his own bottle up to his lips, smiling around the rim as he gulped down a mouthful of the now warm liquid. Maybe Dean’s little display of ownership would finally get people to leave him alone, now that he had been so openly claimed. 

Leaning back against the table Sam once again started to survey the bar, trying his best to look as casual as he could whilst he scouted out possible targets. Despite most of the club goers looking like they had just stepped out of Underworld or Queen of the Damned Sam was surprised to find they were not the only normally dressed people in the room but they definitely seemed to be the most sound of mind and considering how freaky their lives were that was really saying something. 

People were huddled in every dark corner, filling the dance floor and surrounding the bar. Every one of them wrapped around someone or another whilst they played there parts, whether that be hunter or pray. 

Sighing Sam turned his head to look down at his brother only to find him already gazing up at him. “So how we going to do this? Anyone of these could be a vampire and we really don’t have time to go around trying to figure out who is and who is plain old delusional”. Dean smirked, razing an eyebrow as if to say ‘really Sam’, and yer Sam could admit that maybe he had spoken with a little too much of a bite to his words, his dislike for this place and everything it represented showing a little too close to the surface but he just wanted to get this over and done with so they could get the hell out of here already. 

But spotting a vampire was kind of hard on most days, made even harder by the fact that all the clueless dicks in this place were trying so hard to act like one. Oh, oh yes that was it. All these people trying so hard to blend in, to become the living embodiment of Edward fucking Cullen or Lestat they just needed to find the ones that blended in naturally, that were playing the part to easily. 

As if reading his mind Dean nodded at someone to the left of them, smirking slightly with a knowing glint in his eyes. “We find Lestat”. Frowning Sam turned to look at the man as he walked by them, wondering how long ago Dean had singled he out as their target. 

The man’s blue eyes were glued to the bar, his black hair falling to frame his face. Recognition flickered through Sam’s mind and it was only as the man turned his head slightly to gaze back over his shoulder that Sam recognized him as the man who had got a little to handsie with him earlier. 

Sam jerked forward standing straighter, his whole body on alert as he watched the man effortlessly weaved in and out of the tightly packed crowed, never once bumping into anyone. Now that Sam was really looking at him instead of imagining all the horrible things he could do to him he could see how obvious it was that he was a vampire.

Most of the people pretending to be vampires were going for the overly confident, sexy to the point of arrogance look but this guy, he looked bored, disinterested in the world around him, his grey suite standing out amongst the black and red that seemed to be the general color scheme. His cold blue eyes were trained on the bar, completely focused on the poor young girl who was about to become his next meal. 

Sam wasn’t stupid; he knew what a hunter looked like, how they acted. It was so similar to him when he had been soulless that it almost physically hurt to look at the guy. Every cell in the vampires body was focused on the poor, unsuspecting person who was about to become dinner for a nest of fangs that would take their sweet time, passing them around until they had sucked them dry. It was a horrible way to go, a fate that Sam – with a soul- wouldn’t wish on anyone, not even his worst enemy. 

Turning his head slightly so he could keep watching the guy as he made his way to the bar Sam took another swig of his beer trying to look like he was just checking him out instead of tracking him, something Sam had gotten kind of good at over the years. Plus he could use his new found talents to make Dean insanely jealous, what came after wasn’t that bad either.

Sam cursed under his breath as the vamp disappeared behind a group of scantily clad women, hidden from view as they slowly gyrated against one another. Sam strained slightly, using his height to get a better view of the crowd. He felt Dean shift next to him, probably doing the exact same thing as Sam was. Frowning Sam tried to work out where the guy would appear next, working through all the different possibilities. 

Quickly he darted his eyes across the bar, sweeping his gaze from one person to another, trying to find their target. He should have just followed him. So what if it gave away the game at least they would still have him in their sights instead of frantically trying to find him. 

Shock shot through Sam’s body, recognition flashing through his mind as he quickly darted his eyes back down the bar, the vampire temporarily forgotten. “Dean”. His brother’s name fell from Sam’s lips, his voice no louder than a whisper. 

Sam's eyes froze on the one person he never thought he would see again, well not this soon anyway. "Son of a bitch". Sam only just registered Dean's grumbled declaration of annoyance but found himself unable to look away from the seemingly unaware women at the bar. 

Blindly San reached behind him, groping at Dean's shirt. "Dean". This time his voice came out louder, more solid, sounding urgent with a slight edge of desperation to it. "What Sam?" Dean sounded pissed and rightly so. They had lost their prey and the small window to head after him was closing quickly but still Sam couldn't tare his eyes away from the bar and he was about to make things ten times worse by pointing her out. 

Without turning to look at his brother Sam raised his free hand up and pointed towards the young women who was currently leaning across the bar to talk to the bar tender. She was smiling brightly, green eyes sparking. She looked far to carefree and all Sam wanted was to march over there and demand that she explain herself.

He knew the exact moment Dean saw her, felt him stiffen under his grasp as he sucked in a deep breath. Sam couldn't believe their luck. The thing they were after just turning up in the same bar as them was way past crazy coincidence on the freaky meter. 

With stunned intensity Sam watched as Hope flung her long hair over her shoulder and leaned back, her leather jacket falling open to expose her naked skin. For a second Sam thought her bare under the dark jacket until the hazy light caught on the black bra she had on, the shiny material molded to look like hands cupping her breasts. 

It looked sleazy and enticing all at once, probably designed to get people's attention and draw them in to her dark web of lies, all so they would leave willingly with her so she could do god knows what to them. 

Anger flowed through Sam's veins, pulsing under his skin, making his body tense and ready to spring into action the moment she did something even slightly suspicious. He didn't trust her, couldn't trust her. There was just something under the surface that screamed at him that she wasn't right, she wasn't human and he would stop at nothing to protect Dean from the strange sort of hold she had over him. 

Hope smiled brightly at the bartender as he placed a tall slim glass in front of her, the deep red liquid looking far too much like blood for Sam's liking. Turning to face the dance floor she leaned sideways against the bar top, her elbow resting on the edge. 

Sam watched vividly as she swept her eyes across the room, surveying the people around her as if they were cattle to be bartered for. Every time someone caught her eyes she would smile seductively at them, daring them to approach her and try their luck. 

The whole display sickened Sam. He wanted nothing more than to march over there and drag her kicking and screaming from the bar. He would shove her down the nearest empty ally and demand that she tell them what she was and what she was after. 

Sam was just about to push himself away from the table, his hand already half way to his knife when Dean's hand curled tightly around his elbow, holding him in place. Slowly Sam turned his head slightly so he could gaze questioningly down at his brother whilst still keeping one eye on Hope, just in case she should chose to bolt. 

Dean wasn't even looking at him, his eyes trained on the young women he was so foolishly convinced was innocent in this whole matter. Wordlessly Dean nodded his head towards the bar causing Sam to glare down at him. With a put upon sigh Sam turned back to Hope just in time to see their missing pretty boy vamp slide up next to her, leaning casually against the bar as he motioned for service. 

Sam's first instinct was that they were working together. That this whole thing was a planed operation with Hope pulling the strings or being some sort of monster for hire, helping them cover their tracks but as he watched the two interact it was clear to see that they had never met before. 

Hope was all smiles and coy looks as they spoke, slowly getting closer with every sentence they exchanged, whilst he was all charm and barely concealed hunger. They both seemed to tune out the world around them, focused so intensely on one another. 

Sam could barely help but laugh as he realized what was happening. They were putting their killer moves on each other. He was trying to get her back to his nest so him and his family could pass her around and drain her dry whilst she was trying to whisk him back to her stolen car so she could most probably knock him out and drive off to an abandoned warehouse where she could do whatever she pleased to him. 

It was kind of ironic really that two killers would signal each other out and their respective victims. A sort of poetic justice really. Bringing his warm beer up to his lips Sam took a long drag, finishing what was left as he watched the two interact. 

Hope was laughing, her head thrown back, smile wide and her green eyes crinkled around the edges. In that moment Sam was reminded of Dean, of how he looked when he really laughed and not that forced crap he used on a job or when chatting up girls. Quickly Sam shook the vile thought off. She was nothing like Dean. She was a monster and Dean just...wasn't. 

Tipping her head coyly to the side Hope ran her hand through her long hair, pushing a few fallen strands out of her eyes. The movement cased her hair to fall off her shoulders, exposing the long inviting column of her neck. Instantly the guys eyes fell to her neck, his tongue slipping out to lick at his lips. 

Almost subconsciously the vamp moved forward invading her personal space. Instead of freaking out like most people would Hope just smiled up at him, trailing her fingers seductively down her neck and across the swell of her breasts, her finger tips just brushing against the oval locket that hung around her slender neck.

She was teasing him, assuming that he was some wannabe vamp trying to act the part. It was amazing how completely and utterly wrong she was. Sam couldn't stop himself from smiling even if he wanted to as he thought about how totally screwed she was. If she wasn't the killer he thought she was, well not the supernatural killer any way then she was about to learn what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a killers interests. 

"Sam". Dean sounded panicked, his grip tightening on Sam's arm as Hope turned away from them to glare at the burly bald man that had just bumped into her. As soon as her gaze was averted the vampire darted forward, a pale hand shooting up to hover over Hope's glass. 

Dean was moving before Hope had fully turned away, dragging Sam behind him as Sam watched with something close to horror as the guy tipped a fine powder into her glass and slipped back into place as if he had never moved at all, the white substance dissolving almost instantly. 

As if in slow motion Hope turned back to face the young man, blindly reaching out for her drink and bringing it up to her smiling lips. Sam wanted to scream at her for being so careless as she drank deeply from the glass, swallowing almost half of it in one go. 

Stunned at what he was seeing Sam allowed Dean to pull him onto the dance floor, slipping in-between the gyrating masses. Using his height to his advantage Sam continued to watch the two as Hope leaned towards the other man smiling seductively with hooded eyes. 

Panic wrapped its fingers tight around Sam's heart as the two pushed away from the bar, the vampire offering Hope his arm as she wobbled slightly, a tanned hand coming up to press at her temples, her face screwing up in confusion. 

The man smiled reassuringly down at her, his blue eyes gleaming as he tugged her away from the bar and onto the crowded dance floor. Sam knew they were heading to the door. No self respecting vampire would be stupid enough to try something in a place as crowded as this, well he hoped not anyway. They really didn't need more attention than they were already getting. 

Swearing under his breath Sam started to take larger strides quickly overtaking Dean so he was the being tugged along behind Sam instead of the other way around. They couldn't lose them, it just wasn't an option. They needed the vamp to find the nest, to try and save as many of the young girls as they could and then there was her. 

They needed Hope. She was important, had something to do with the rip in time and the murder in Salt Lake City. Sam knew this, was so certain of it he would bet his soul on it. Well maybe not his soul, something probably closer to $50 but that wasn't the point. She had something to do with it and Sam was going to find out what before she became a buffet for a nest of the hungriest things she had ever come across. 

Quickening their steps the brothers followed the two killers out onto the street. Stopping out into the middle of the street Sam jerked his head from side to side looking to see where Hope and undead kidnaper had gone. The couple were a good few feet or so ahead of them as they stumbled down the street, the man practically dragging Hope behind him as the drugs started to work through her system. 

Shaking Dean's hand off Sam shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, feeling the long blade through the thin cotton. Turning sharply he started after them, keeping a respectable distance so as not to draw any unwanted attention to them.

He could feel Dean beside him, stretching his smaller legs as he tried to keep up with Sam as he quickened his pace as the two disappeared around a corner, slipping into an unseen alleyway. Flat out running to make sure that they didn't lose them Sam slid around the corner coming to an abrupt stop as he stumbled into the empty dead end alley. 

He had been so sure that this was the one they had turned into. There had not been one before and Sam couldn't recall seeing one after so this had to be the one, right? Vampires couldn't just vanish into thin air so they had to of gone somewhere, had too of made their escape somehow. 

Standing there in stunned silence Sam barely registered his brother coming up behind him, panting slightly from trying to keep up with his long legged brother. "Where'd...they...go?" Dean forced the words out as he doubled over, hands flat against his thighs as he gasped for breath. 

Ignoring his brothers question Sam shoved his hand down the side of his black suit trousers. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of his machete Sam pulled the blade out of its holster that he had attached to his leg before they even left the hotel. It slipped easily from his waistband, the blunt edge dragging against his skin as he pulled it free. 

Holding it tightly in his hand Sam darted his eyes around the dimly lit alleyway looking for any sign that could show him where the other two had disappeared. They had to be somewhere and knowing their luck like he did Sam suspected they were probably hiding in the shadows somewhere waiting to ambush them when given the opportunity. 

Slowly the two of them made their way further into the alley both of them on edge, there blades raised ready to strike if something should jump out at them. Sam felt Dean gently brush the tips of his fingers against the back of his free hand and instantly Sam turned to look at what Dean was wordlessly pointing out to him.

The dirty chipped black door blended in well with the shadowed wall, only noticeable this close up and if you were actually looking for it. If you were just passing the top of the alley you wouldn't see it, just like they hadn't. 

Nodding his head in agreement to the unspoken question Sam watched as Dean moved towards the door, machete raised before Sam spun around to face the opposite wall again. Slowly Sam began to walk backwards, following the sound of Dean's light footsteps as he watched for any sign of movement. 

At the gentle brush of Dean's fingers against the small of his back Sam moved to the side pushing himself hard against the wall on the opposite side of the door to Dean. Scrunching his nose up in disgust at the faint smell of stale pee Sam tried not to think about all the different things that covered the wall, tried not to imagine all the disgusting things that people had done against it. 

It wasn't the first time he had found himself in a place like this, it kind of came with the job but that didn't mean he had to like it. He could admit he was a bit of a neat freak. He liked things tidy, clean, in their place and the prospect of getting covered in other peoples filth left him feeling sick and his skin crawling even if it was under a few layers of clothes. 

Once they got back to the hotel he would take a long hot shower and wash it all from his skin along with the vast amount of blood he was undoubtedly going to get covered in. Cutting the head off a vampire was quick and effective but their blood got everywhere as it spurted out of the severed veins. Last time it had taken him a good half-an-hour to get it all out of his hair. 

Razing his machete high Sam nodded his head towards Dean, signalling his readiness. With a slight incline of his head Dean stretched out his free hand to grasp the door handle, his fingers wrapping slowly around the thin strip of metal. Once he had a good enough grip Dean quickly yanked the door open as he pushed himself back against the wall, using the door as a shield. 

Silently they stood on either side of the doorway, as still as statues as they waited to see if anyone should rush out at the sudden action but after five long minuets and no sign of life coming from inside Sam was quickly losing his calm. 

Frowning Sam poked his head around the doorframe. The small room was empty, the only sign that people had been there were the dozens of empty beer bottles that littered the floor and a whole host of crude words scrawled on the walls in brightly colored paints that stood out almost violently against the dirty walls. 

It looked like the standard teenage hangout to any who should glance upon it bust as Sam slowly made his way into the small room it became clear it was just for show, designed to throw people off the vampires trail. The bottles were place to regular intervals, someone having tried too hard to make it look random. Now that he was in the room Sam could see the dozens of burnt out cigarette buts littering the spaces in-between the bottles all bent in exactly the same way as the next.

Scanning his eyes across the walls he took in the painted words, some of them mild and childish but others so crude that even Dean wouldn't utter them. As he swept his eyes across the opposite wall Sam noticed a small red splodge amongst the neon picks and greens. 

Trying not to make more sound than was necessary Sam attentively stepped over the discarded bottles. Slowly making his way to the other wall. He didn't need to look to know that Dean was following him just as cautiously. He could feel Dean's presence behind him, Sam's skin tingling slight from how close his brother was. 

As he got closer to the wall the more defined the red splodge became until Sam could make out the distinct shape of fingers. His stomach sank with the realization that someone had tried to escape and from the lack of any other blood smears they had probably only made it that far before being dragged back. The question was dragged back to where though as the room was door and windowless. 

Cautiously Sam ran his hand along the wall, his fingers sliding through the thick layer of dust and dirt easily. Now that he was closer it was clearer to see that half the bloody print was missing, only the top half and a partial of the thumb showing. Sam squinted in the half light, gently running his finger tips along the edge of print were it disappeared. He could feel a small ridge, the side that wasn't covered in blood slight razed compared to the side that was. 

Suddenly the wall was bathed in a bright light causing Sam to snap his head round so he could look over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of black behind the bright pool of light before it was moving lower down. Flicking his eyes up he watched as Dean turned his head back from where he had been glancing out the open doorway. As soon as he noticed Sam's intense glare he smiled brightly his green eyes shimmering with amusement. 

Shaking his head at his brothers complete inability to warn people before he did something Sam turned his attention back to the wall and the faded floral print wallpaper that covered it. Frowning slightly Sam raised his hand once more as he traced his eyes over the deep red mark. The light from Dean's torch was casting a small shadow up the wall, the edge of the print lining up perfectly with it.

Sam ran his fingers a little harder up the grove, following it half way up the wall before sliding them back down. The wall creaked as it moved under the slight pressure, bouncing back into place as soon as he moved his hand away. 

Moving closer until he was almost pushed flush against the wall Sam ran his fingers quickly up the small gap, his height working to his advantage as his fingers shot up towards the ceiling. As he moved his fingers along the top of the wall Sam pushed himself tighter against the wall and raising up onto his toes so he could get a better grip on the top of the wall. 

About half way across his fingers bumped into a small catch. Smiling in triumph Sam pushed down on the small button before quickly moving back, bumping against Dean as he tried to avoid getting hit by the swinging section of wall. 

Dean's flashlight flickered off casting the room into a hazy half light that filtered in through the new doorway. Raising his machete Sam slowly made his way through the new doorway already filtering through the possibilities of what they could find on the other side of the wall. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the naked bulbs that hung sporadically from the ceiling it was clear to see they had found themselves in nothing but a long empty hallway.

Though he was relieved that it was empty Sam couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that it wasn't a room full of vampires. He hated nights like this when he knew they were most likely outnumbered with a high chance of getting the crap beaten out of them before they could even the odds let alone kill a whole nest. Then on top of that they had to find the missing girls, hoping against all odds that most of them were still alive and then they had to find Little Miss Mysterious that was just radiating suspicion, but hay it's all in a day's work right. 

It was going to be a long night and Sam knew they would be lucky if they made it back to the hotel before dawn, though it would most likely be closer to midday before they were ready to leave this place. If that was the case then they would have to stick around to nightfall, not stupid or desperate enough to try and attempt the mile long walk back to the Impala covered in blood and reeking of smoke. 

Swinging his machete around as he flexed his wrist Sam started to make his way down the hallway slowly making his way deeper into nest territory, Dean not far behind him. He heard Dean pull the hidden door closed behind them, the hinged squeaking their protest at being moved again so suddenly. The faint sound of distant traffic disappeared with the soft click of the wall slotting back into place and cutting off their escape route, their only choice to go forward now. The only sound in the closed of space was the faint echo of their footsteps as they slowly moved forward. 

Sam's senses were on high alert, his ears straining for any sound as his eyes flickered around looking for any sign of a lurking attacker or a damned door that lead off the stupidly long corridor because seriously who designed this place? It felt more like a maze than anything and if they didn't find a door soon Sam was going to make one. 

After what felt like way to long following the doorless corridor the sound of harsh whispering voices reached Sam's ears. Stopping at the sudden bend in the corridor Sam pushed himself flat against the wall, Dean doing the same next to him. Their shoulders bumped against one another's as Dean pushed himself back against the wall, getting as close to Sam as he could without hindering his ability to move if an attack should come. 

Taking a deep breath Sam poked his head around the corner trying not to over think why he was taking all the major risks tonight. Instantly his eyes locked onto the two men that stood arguing. They were both well built, muscular, both of them looking like they could go a round or eight. The one on the right was dressed smartly in a black suit, his short red hair slicked back whilst the other was in faded jeans and a white wife beater, his bald head gleaming slightly the bright light. 

Pulling his eyes away from the two men Sam observed there surrounding. The corridor gave way to a small room that looked to be about the same size as the one they had first stumbled upon. The two men stood in the middle of the doorway their angry voices getting louder with every word they exchanged. 

"What were you thinking letting him go out and hunt". The red head hissed, his posture ridged as he glared at the man next to him. "We're hungry Stain. You expecting us to just starve?" The bald guy didn't even bother to turn and look at the man next to him, his southern drawl sounding bored with a tinge of annoyance. "Yes. When there are hunters sniffing around I expect you to do what is right not what he tells you. That is unless you want the family slaughtered".

Pulling his head back round Sam turned to look at Dean waiting for his opinion on the matter as he thought about how it was a little late for the vamps to be worrying about hunters now. Flexing his arm Dean swung his machete up, the dim light gleaming off the polished metal. Smiling grimly Dean nodded his head, his green eyes darting back down the corridor as he craned his neck to look behind them.

Breathing deeply Sam gripped the handle of his blade tighter, preparing himself for the massacre that was about to take place. Silently he sent up a prayer to whoever was listening that the girls were still alive, a stupid plea he knew but he could all but hope. 

Poking his head back round the corner to check that they still had their backs to the corridor before he started to move. Looking back over his shoulder Sam quickly nodded to his brother before sliding round the corner and slowly making his way towards the two vamps. He pushed himself flat against the dark wall, hoping that his movements would be lost in the shadows. His eyes darted from the still arguing vampires across to the other side of the corridor were Dean was doing the same, his expression grim as he kept his eyes on the vampires. 

Sam knew what he was thinking, though he never speaks of his feelings Sam could read them as clear as day. Dean had a nasty habit of bottling it all up, slamming up his walls and hiding it all behind his cocky attitude and his shit eating grin but Sam knew what went on behind the false bravado. 

It was the little things that gave him away, the way his shoulders tensed, the small quirk of his lips, his clenching jaw but it was his eyes that gave away the most. Those beautiful deep green pools that could hold so much emotion that sometimes it made Sam feel like he was drowning if he stared into them for too long. 

Sam knew his brother, knew that at that exact moment he was worrying about the odds of them coming out of this alive, trying not to think about how unlikely it was for all the girls to still be alive all the while worrying about how to keep Sam safe. Though Dean didn't want Sam to know that he felt it all, all the worry and guilt that came with the job not to mention the self hatred and complete lack on self respect he couldn't hide all the things Sam had spent a lifetime learning, all those signs Sam had studied until he could read Dean like an open book. Well almost open. Some of the pages might be a little fuzzy or dog eared but he knew Dean better than anyone, better than his brother thought he did. He just needed Dean to fill in the blanks sometimes when all he had was the outline. 

Turning his attention back to the matter at hand Sam darted his eyes back to the two vampires that were still arguing, seemingly unaware of the two hunters slowly approaching. Chewing nervously on the inside of his lips Sam darted his eyes around the small room in front as more of it was exposed. This all seemed a little too easy and their luck really wasn't that good. 

Once they were almost upon their targets Sam stopped, glancing over at Dean to see he had done the same. Exchanging a quick look and a curt nod they both darted forward swinging their blades up and round, but before they could even reach their intended targets the two men spun around, ducking the would be fatal blows. 

The force of the missed blow sent Sam stumbling into empty air, the bald vampire spinning away and turning, coming up behind him. Quickly Sam regained his footing swinging around to face the guy, finally getting a good look at his face. Sam recognized him instantly, his dark eyes and twisted smile to ugly to easily forget. 

He was the one who had bumped into Hope at the bar giving her kidnaper the perfect opportunity to slip her the drugs. So it had been a two man job all along, it explained a lot really. The black haired guy would reel them in and then baldie would distract them, after all no teenage girl was going to argue with a guy that size.

Razing his blade Sam returned the vampires dark smile with a sarcastic quirk of his lips before he was darting forward again, swinging his machete round in a long curve aiming for the guys neck. Before the blade could connect with the exposed flesh a fist hit him hard in the chest knocking the wind out of him. 

Sam's eyes slipped closed for just a moment as he gasped for breath but it was the opportunity the vampire had been waiting for. The larger man was on him in an instant, fists and elbows slamming into Sam in quick concession. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This really wasn't going how Sam hoped it would. Sure he had known it would be hard but he didn't think he would be getting his ass handed to him by the first vampire he came across. He could feel himself being backed into the wall, caged in by the still smirking, smug looking vamp, so damned happy for himself that he had one up on a hunter. Sam could only hope that Dean was faring better than him. 

A pained cry filled the air followed by the clatter of a knife falling to the floor and Sam knew he had spoke to soon. Sam snapped his head to the side to check on his brother, quickly taking in that the other vampire had him pinned against the wall with a large hand wrapped around his throat. 

Before Sam could even think about doing anything a large hand was wrapping around his wrist squeezing tightly. Gritting his teeth Sam tried to yank his arm free but all that happened was the grip got tighter until his fingers spasmed under the pressure and his knife fell free of his grip. The guy continued to squeeze, his grip getting tighter and tighter. Sam could feel the bones grinding together, could feel them starting to give under the pressure. "Enough!"

Instantly the pressure vanished as the guy let his wrist go. As Sam tried to will feeling back into his hand he was yanked forward, tripping over his own feet and stumbling to the floor, his knees hitting the concrete with a loud thud.

Wincing Sam shot his left hand out to brace his weight, his nails scratching at the hard floor as he tried to remember how to breath and push his pain to the back of his mind. Glancing to the side he saw Dean being shoved down next to him, his face red and dark angry spots already starting to form around his throat that looked way to much like a handprint for Sam's liking. 

A low moan pulled Sam's attention away from his brother just in time to see a strung out Hope being shoved towards the wall to the right of them. A pained gasp escaped from between her lips as she slowly slid down the wall landing in a heap on the dirty floor. 

Running his eyes over her Sam quickly took in the state she was in. Her tanned skin was flushed, her eyes hooded and pupils blown wide, her lips parted as she breathed heavily. Rolling her head to the side she squinted at them, confusion creasing her brows. A lazy smile tugged at her lips and instantly Sam knew she had recognized them. 

Mentally Sam screamed at her to keep her mouth shut, levelling her with an angry glare hoping that she would get the message. They needed her alive to interrogate not half dead and in need of a blood transfusion. But obviously she didn't get the message because the next thing Sam knew she was lifting her arm to point a delicate finger towards them, her hand bobbing just a few inches above her leg. "Hayyyyy I remberrrr ou".

At her slurred words the black haired vampire that had taken her snapped his head round, glaring at her with such disgust it was clear to see he thought of her as one thing and one thing only. "Urrrr the guyyysssss with the sexyyyy caaar". 

"Shut up you annoying little blood sack". The vampire growled at her, taking a threatening step towards a dazed looking Hope. She shut up almost instantly, frowning slightly before she went back to smiling widely at the brothers. Sam didn't know what they had given her but dear god she was out of it. 

She looked like she could barely focus on the hand in front of her let alone them all the way over on the other side of the room. Though he supposed her drugged state was a good thing as they wouldn't have to worry about her lashing out or trying to run. All they had to do was keep her alive and to do that they needed to make sure they left the warehouse with their heads attached and as much blood as possible still inside their bodies.

Turning his cold gaze back to the brothers the vampire smiled brightly, all trace of anger and disgust being replaced with charm and politeness. "Hunters! What a fabulous rarity you are". The guy sounded far to cheerful, his whole attitude and look making him seem more like a sleazy car salesman instead of the deadly killer he was meant to be. 

Stepping forward until he was only a few feet away from Sam he waved a hand as if he was dismissing servants. The vampire behind Sam tightened his grip on Sam's shoulder, his fingernails digging into Sam's flesh like five tiny blades. Gritting his jaw Sam fought against the hiss of pain that was trying to escape, it wouldn't do to show weakness in front of these people. "Leave us". 

The man's grip on Sam's shoulder tightens impossibly more causing Sam to bite down on the inside of his mouth, his teeth slicing through the fragile skin and flooding his mouth with fresh blood. The metallic tang of his own blood smothered his taste buds, the taste so familiar by now that Sam could swallow a good few mouthfuls and think nothing of it, almost like he was drinking water. 

Slowly the fingers uncurled, the guy shoving against Sam's shoulder as his hand slipped free. Sam could feel the guy moving behind him, could hear the light squeaks of his trainers as he began to walk away. Sam's head jerked forward as he smacked him around the back of the head, the force of the blow sending spikes of pain shooting through his head. 

Keeping his head down, his long hair hiding the glare he was sending to the floor Sam clenched his hands into tight fists against his thighs. It was the only thing he could do to stop himself from leaping forward and trying to rip the fangs head off with his bare hands. 

It was typical that he would end up with the overly physical one, it seemed to be the universes greatest past time of late to screw him over in every conceivable way at every opportunity that presented its self. Dean's pain filled grunt filled the air and Sam could only imagine what his vampire was giving him as a goodbye gift. It couldn't be good. 

Sam watched as a pair of black shoes invaded his field of vision, the smart dress shoes clicking away into the unseen distance. Sam wanted so much to dart his hand out and grab the guys ankle, pulling his feet out from under him and use his fall as a distraction, but Sam wasn't stupid. He knew that would only lead to them getting the shit beaten out of them again. No they had to wait for the right moment no matter how tempting the idea was. 

A startled moan pulled Sam away from the mental talk down he was giving himself, his head jerking up to see Hope getting yanked up off the floor. The bald guys grip looked just as tight on her arm as it had been on Sam's shoulder as he dragged her out of the room. 

Shit, shit, shit. Now what were they going to do? By the time they managed to get out of here she would most likely be dead, drained dry and nothing but a cold body on the floor. They would never find out if she was just your average psycho or if she was the monster Sam believed her to be and if Sam was being honest with himself he was kind of good at attracting the worst kind of monsters that roamed this planet so it made sense that she would be one. 

Sam watched with thinly veiled desperation as she was dragged around the corner and out of sight, the sound of her shoes sliding across the floor echoing back to them from wherever she was being taken to die. "Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, she won't feel a thing". 

Sam darted his eyes up to glare daggers at the smug looking prat of a vampire that was smiling triumphantly down at him, his too white teeth showing. "Well, not until the first few pints have been drained anyway". He wiggled an eyebrow suggestively causing Sam to snarl at him. God he really hated this guy. 

"You smug bastard". Dean's rough voice cut through Sam's thoughts like a sharpened blade accompanied by the unmistakeable sounds of Dean pushing himself up off the floor, ready to attack. Before Sam could even turn to stare at his brother and will him to back the hell off because he was unarmed and likely to get his head kicked in Sam found himself with the muzzle of a gun pressing against his forehead. 

Sam's eyes widened as he pulled in a shocked gasp, his body tensing as it reacted to the familiar situation. His first thought was 'really twice in one day, this is getting kind of stupid' before his mind stated to run through every possible way he knew to disable his attacker, but the muzzle was pressed tight against his temple, the metal digging in. The vampires finger was already pressing gently against the trigger, not enough to end Sam's life but enough of a threat that if either of them should so much as twitch Sam's brains were going to end up splattered against the wall behind him. 

"I don't think so repast*". The vampire was smiling sweetly at Dean now, his head turned away from Sam but Sam knew he could still see him, would notice if he made a move and then it would be bye bye Sam hello faceless corpse. "Now why don't you get back on your knees where you belong blood sack". 

That sickly sweet voice was really starting to grate against Sam's nerves. He desperately wanted to tell Dean to stop always putting him first and take the smug blood sucker down. It didn't matter what happened to Sam they had to try and save those girls at all costs. They had to take Hope down.

Sam's shoulders sagged in disappointment as he heard Dean sink back to his knees. So predictable in his need to protect his little brother, something Sam had told him countless times he didn't have to do, not any more. 

Sam could imagine the glare Dean was fixing on the vamp, all dark and brooding. He knew it would hold the promise of all the things Dean would do to him once he could because no one threatened Sam and lived to talk about. Well almost no one, Dean and Cas were the exceptions. 

How was it that they always managed to find themselves in these kind on situations? It seemed like it had become a weekly occurrence these days and that should really worry Sam because it was only ever dumb luck or a freak act of nature that they even managed to come out of half their hunts alive these days. They really needed to start practicing again, maybe brush up on the evasion technique and their survival skills because they clearly needed it. 

A deep sigh pulled Sam away from planning what areas him and Dean need to start working on when they got out of here. Sam darted his eyes back up from where they had fallen and back to the gun and the vampire's pale hand. 

The playful, smug look had vanished from his pale face, his disgust for humankind showing through once more. "Now there's a good little meat sack". Dear god Sam wanted to punch him, right in the face and mess up his pretty boy good looks. The thought surprised Sam as it was something Dean would normally come out with but since his time in hell Sam had been surprising himself a lot and most of the time not in a good way. 

"Now what to do with you". He made a show of rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling, pretending to think over his options though Sam could guess it would end with them becoming dinner. "I think I will shoot bigfoot here, make you watch him bleed out then rip your throat out". 

Smiling brightly he pushed the gun harder against Sam's head. Sam knew there would be a bruise there by morning, knew Dean would probably get a good few laughs out of that. He would make a few crap jokes about Sam finally getting a target on his head to make it easier for all the people who wanted him dead. "You know I think I'm going to enjoy this, now say goodbye to lover boy". 

Still smiling the vampire turned his dark blue eyes towards Sam, his smile wicked now instead of sickly sweet. Locking his gaze with the man that stood in front of him Sam braced himself for his inevitable death. It was a conversation Sam had had many times over the past few years with himself that all he needed to do now was take a deep breath and go 'hay this is it, brace yourself'. He could only hope that Dean managed to take the vamps head of before he could keep his promise and rip Dean's throat out.

He could hear Dean shifting next to him already starting his attack but Sam knew he would be too late. The guy was faster, the muzzle to close and Dean wouldn't be able to save him, not this time. "Goodbye lover boy". 

The unfamiliar voice reverberated around Sam's skull as he watched something flicker in the light as it quickly passed over the vampires face. The gun fell from his hands hitting the floor just between Sam's legs as his hands shot up to claw against his neck, a strangled cry escaping from between his lips. 

Sam knelt there paralyzed, watching with wide eyes as blood started to dribble down the guys neck, his fingers scratching at something Sam couldn't see. Suddenly his blue eyes went wide and his body jerked forward, slumping into a heap on the floor, his severed head falling to the floor with a dull thud, rolling off towards the corner. 

Sam watched the bloody head role past Dean before he slowly raised his eyes to look up at his standing brother but Dean wasn't paying any attention to him. His wide green eyes were fixed on something past Sam, a look on his face somewhere between shock and confusion, not an unusual look of Dean. 

Frowning Sam turned his head back coming face to foot with a pair of black cowboy boots. Slowly Sam dragged his eyes up over skin tight black jeans, over an exposed tanned stomach framed by a soft looking leather jacket. Up over black PVC and blood splattered breasts, all the way up over smirking lips until his eyes locked on sparkling green ones. 

Quickly Sam pushed himself up off the floor, stumbling backwards over his own feet as he stared in shock at the young women in front of him. Hope was smiling triumphantly down at the headless body at her feet, blood splattered over her face and disappearing into her hair. All trace of the doped up useless mess she had been gone, replaced by a calm arrogance that left her radiating superiority. 

Shifting his stance slightly Sam took a step back towards Dean, weary of the women who had just saved his life. "How did you..." Before Sam could even get the rest of the question out Hope was snapping her eyes back up to his, her smile bright and wide. Once again Sam was reminded of Dean, couldn't help but see the resemblance though he couldn't understand why.

"Get out? I'm good with my hands, plus you know no one ever checks the boots". Smirking she pointed down to her boots drawing Sam's attention to the dripping wire she had wrapped around her blood soaked hands. 

Suitably Sam turned his head slightly, darting his eyes over to his abandoned machete, trying to figure out how long it would take him to grab it and swing it back round so the blade was pressing against Hope's throat. "But you were..."

Once again she cut through the conversation, though this time it was Dean she deemed unworthy of speech. "Higher than a shooting star? Yer well me and drugs don't go to well together so I threw up whilst pretty boy here was poffing his hair". She nudged the vampires body as she spoke, causing it to rock slightly.

Whilst her attention was elsewhere Sam turned to look at Dean, rolling his eyes towards the abandoned blade hoping that his brother would understand what he meant. Sam knew he would be able to keep her distracted long enough for Dean to grab the machete and then hopefully knock her out so they could go and save the other girls, you know the real reason they were here in the first place.

Nodding his head slightly, a barely there tilt that you wouldn't notice unless you were really looking for it, Dean flickered his eyes towards the long blade. "That's cute, that whole non verbal communication thing you two have going on. Bet that comes in real useful on hunts". 

Eyes wide Sam snapped his head back round to look at Hope, one of her eyebrows razed as she smile sweetly, a knowing glint in her eyes. She didn't seem bothered by the amount of blood covering her face, didn't even seem to notice that it was splattered over her eyelids and coating her lips. In fact she didn't really seem to care she was in a room with two deadly people who clearly didn't trust her. 

This wasn't right. They were wasting time playing around with her. They needed to find the other girls before it was too late, before they had five extra bodies on their hands and no way to explain them away. Well no reason that wouldn't get them back on the FBI's radar and make them sound seven different shades of crazy. 

"Look out!" Dean's warning echoed around the small room and instantly Hope ducked, just missing the blade that would of hit her square in the neck if she hadn't of moved. Sam watched in stunned silence as she ducked and weaved, a wide smile on her face as she practically danced around her opponent. It was almost as if she could predict what was coming next, could see his choices before he made them as she dodged and spun away from his attacks, landing blow after blow on the much larger man. 

Sam would have stood and admired her obvious skill, marveled at how she so effortlessly fought but the room was quickly filling with the rest of the nest. Diving for his fallen blade Sam dove into action, ducking a swinging fist and spinning out and round from under the guys arm. Without a pause to think Sam swung his machete up and round as he stood, taking the guys head off with one fatal blow. 

He didn't stop to watch the headless body fall to the floor instead spinning round and diving straight into another attack. This was something Sam could do, was good at even. He could feel the familiar buzz of adrenaline pumping through his veins, pushing him forward. He could barely feel the strain on his muscles as he pushed his body harder than he had in a good few weeks. 

Punching his new attacker in the stomach Sam took the opportunity to bring his blade down on the guys neck as he doubled over from the force of Sam's blow. Warm blood splattered over his face as he swung his blade up, spinning on the spot as he looked for another attacker.

Bodies littered the floor, at least six headless corpses strewn across the concrete, their blood seeping out of their wounds and forming large pools on the floor. To anyone else this would look like a scene out of a horror film but to Sam this was a sign of a job well done. It meant that they were winning and Sam really didn't want to admit that it had anything to do with the extra set of hands that were currently pulling her silver wire tight across a snarling mans throat as he desperately tried to prise her hands free. 

A familiar cry of pain shot through Sam's thoughts. Snapping his head round he was just in time to see Dean being thrown across the room, his body hitting the far wall with a loud thud. "Dean!" Yelling his brother's name Sam darted forward as the vampire advanced on Dean's unconscious body that was now heaped at the bottom of the wall. 

The vampire turned to smile at Sam as he swung his machete, aiming for his neck but the man ducked and spun out of Sam's line of attack, growling as he went. Spinning Sam advanced on the guy but he was quick on his feet avoiding all of Sam's fatal blows and the ones that did connect only just grazing him. 

The adrenaline from earlier was fading, panic starting to take its place as Sam was once again crowded back against the wall. All to soon he was pinned against the wall with nowhere to go, his still swinging machete the only thing keeping him from having his throat ripped out. 

As he brought his blade up to try and force the burly man back a large hand shot out to wrap around his throat as the other grasped his wrist tightly. Growling the vamp slammed Sam's wrist back against the wall. Pain shot through his arm, his already injured wrist throbbing. Groaning in pain as his wrist was ground against the wall Sam's fingers twitched, his blade falling from his hand once more and clattering to the floor. The faint sound of his wrist snapping ringing loudly in his ears.

Gasping for breath Sam's free hand shot up, trying to prise the hand off of his neck but it was useless, his nails scratching against tanned skin as the guys grip tightened. Sam could feel his windpipes starting to give under the pressure as he struggled to breath, the world around him becoming hazy as he started to slip into unconsciousness. 

As the world started to fade Sam couldn't help but think that this was it, this was how he was going to die. He had survived the apocalypse, lived through hell, saved countless lives and gone against all the odds that he was going to turn out a monster only to die at the hands of a steroid filled vampire that probably didn't even have two brain cells to rub together. He always knew he would die on the job, like almost every other hunter but this was not how he had imagined it going. 

He could only hope that Dean's death was quick, that was if he wasn't turned instead. Dean would never be able to live as one of them, didn't deserve to become a monster. "I'm going to enjoy ripping your guts out". The vampire smiled darkly at him, his eyes gleaming with hunger and the anticipation of what he was going to do to Sam. 

Sam gasped as he was yanked forward only to be slammed back against the wall, pain shooting through his skull as it collided with the brick with a dull cracking. Briefly Sam wondered if his skull had been broken but the world was fading fast, his eye lids drooping closed. The last thing he could here was a muffled voice calling out. It sounded so familiar but before he could remember where he had heard it before everything went black, the world ceasing to exist.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Staring down at the limp body in his hands he smiled triumphantly. He had never had the pleasure of killing a hunter before and now with his brothers out of the way he had two all to himself. He was going to have so much fun ripping them apart and sucking them dry. "You really shouldn't have done that".

The exasperated voice from behind had him turning his head slightly, his eyes darting over his shoulder. Ah yes there was another one, how could he have forgotten that sweet smelling little blood sack that was practically screaming to be ripped into. 

Smirking he released his hold on the hunter, letting his body crumble to the floor. Slowly he turned to face the young blood splattered women, watching with amusement as she stepped over the headless bodies of his fallen brothers, twisting her sharp cord around her hands. He could smell her blood as the wire cut into her skin, could practically taste it on his tongue. Oh he was going to enjoy this.

"And why is that little girl?" She raised an eyebrow at him as if he was asking an obvious question, her tongue sneaking out to swipe across her blood covered lips as she slowly continued to make her way towards him. 

Smirking he thought about all the wicked things he was going to do to her before he killed her, wondered how long it would take her to start begging for death, but that was if he killed her. Now family-less he needed to start a new one and why not start with a sweet little thing like her, something to tempt others back to the nest so he could devour them. And being the generous maker he was he would give her the choice of which one of her companions she would liked turned and witch one should die. 

Her smile got wider as she stopped just out of arms reach, her green eyes darkening. He watched with amusement as she deliberately blinked, her eyelids snapping open to expose black pools of nothingness. Jerking back in shock he eyed the demon before him, horrified that he had missed the putrid sent their kind gave off, but even now as he stood face to face with her he could only smell the sweet tang of apples and youth. He wouldn't have known she was a soulless beast if he couldn't see the evidence. 

"Because now I can do this". With a bat of her eyelids he found himself flying across the room, his back slamming into the opposite wall. Crying out he tried to get free of the invisible force that held him pinned against the wall. His nails clawed at air as he desperately tried to pull the hands away from his neck. 

"You see whilst they were wide awake and far to alert for their own good I had to be on my best behavior. Can't go giving the game away to early now can I?" The women's voice was light and playful almost like this was some sort of game. He watched as she moved from one unconscious body to the next, smiling fondly down at them but making no attempt to rouse them or even check they were still breathing. 

Anger and panic pushed against one another as he watched until finally his anger won out and left him growling and snarling as he pushed forward, desperate to get free and rip the smug little bitch into pieces. 

Crying out in shock he found himself flying through the air once more, his body being slammed down against the floor. His knees made a loud crack as they hit the concrete and he knew his kneecaps were fucked. Now kneeling on the floor much like the hunters had been before, he lifted his head to watch as the young women knelt down next to the shorter one of the two hunters. She smiled fondly at him as she gently ran the back of her hand down the side of his face in something close to a lovers caress. 

Snarling at her he tried to lunge forward but found his body stuck to the ground, unable to so much as wiggle his fingers let alone raise his arms to strangle her. " Ah, ah, ah. None of that now. Try and die with a little bit of dignity wont you".

Pushing herself back up and round she wrapped her long fingers around the handle of the hunters fallen machete, the blade making a high pitched squeal as she dragged it along the floor. He watched with horror as she slowly made her way towards him, humming something far to happy for the situation they were in as she moved behind him and out of his line of sight. 

Frantically he tried to break free but the only part of him that he could move was his head. He screamed out in pain as she plunged her hand into his hair, grabbing a fist full and yanking his head back exposing his neck. 

He felt the edge of the blade as she pushed it gently against his jugular, the action full of threat and left his body trembling. "Let me tell you a little secret". He stopped his futile attempts to escape as soon as he felt her cool breath ghosting over his ear. He could feel the power humming around her as she pushed her body close against his. 

He couldn't help but notice how steady her heartbeat was, how normal her breathing was. She was so calm and relaxed, as if she was doing nothing more than brushing her teeth or making a cup of coffee and not about to end his life. 

Absentmindedly he imagined the kind of vampire she would have made. She would have been perfect, all charm and seduction masking the deadly killer that hid just under the surface. Just waiting to be set free and feel all that lovely warm blood flowing through her veins and gushing down her chin. 

"This world is going to die in a fiery blaze of blood and sorrow and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. Well almost no one". His eyes widened flickering over to the two unconscious men. She couldn't mean what he thought she did, could she? He had heard tales of hunters defeating grate evils but these two, they wouldn't stand a chance in hell. "Shame you won't be around to see it". 

He only briefly managed a quick thought of this is it before the blade was slicing through his jugular, tearing through tissue and muscle, slicing through bone, his cry dying on his tongue before it had even slipped past his lips. 

His body fell to the ground with a dull thud, blood gushing from his severed neck. Smiling Hope razed his head, turning it around so she could look into his wide lifeless eyes. Laughing she flung the head behind her as she made her way over to Dean, the head flying through the open doorway and hitting an unseen wall with a wet thud. 

Crouching down next to Dean's unconscious body Hope slipped her hand inside his jacket. Making a small noise of triumph she pulled her hand back, a set of keys dangling from her middle finger. She had been waiting a life time to get her hands on this car and now that it was all hers for the taking. Oh she was going to have some fun but first thing first, she had some bodies that needed to be burned before the cops turned up. 

It wouldn't do to get caught so early in the game and she really did hate killing people when it wasn't necessary. Well, most of the time anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REPAST - another word for food.


	10. Get Your Hands Off My Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't quite believe what Hope is telling him and Sam is being no help what so ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So another one again, why so soon I hear you ask. Well I had some time off so this is what I did instead of all the other stuff I was supposed to do. As always only Hope belongs to me. I'm sorry if you spot any mistakes, I am looking for a beta but I have yet to find one who will take on a Wincest, the shame of it. Please, please review because I would love to know what you think. I hope you are having a good day, night or whatever other time of the day you are reading this. All the best and thanks for sticking with me.

Dean came back to reality on a wave of pain and fog. Everything hurt. His body felt like he had gone ten rounds with a brick wall and his head had been shoved into a dryer and set to spin cycle. It wasn't the worst he had ever felt but it defiantly wasn't pleasant. Taking a deep breath he tried to remember what it was he had been doing before everything went dark.

They had been working a case out in Fort Worth, which was kind of ironic really, all things considered. Dean didn't know how they had missed all the news bulletins' and missing posters the first time round, the only explanation was they had been too preoccupied to notice. 

They had figured out it was vampires pretty quickly and he and Sam had gone their separate ways to gather as much information as quickly as possible. All roads had lead to the shitty local Goth club and that night they had made their way there in hopes of finding a vampire that could lead them back to the nest. 

He had spotted one almost instantly, had watched as the pretty boy made the rounds even daring to touch his Sammy but Dean had let it go, knowing that he had to wait for the right time to kick the assholes teeth in for touching something that clearly wasn't his to be playing around with. To tell the truth he had been kind of surprised that Sam hadn't beaten the shit out of him for it, Sam really hated it when people got to handsie with him. 

Once he had reinstated his claim on Sam he had watched the guy stalk around the room until he spotted his newest victim. Dean had been ready to charge after the gun and lob his head of right there and then but something had distracted him. No, not something but someone. Hope.

Hope had been there eyeing up the vampire just as much as he had been her. Dean had panicked, to worried about what Sam would do to her to really process what was happening in front of him. She hadn't stood a chance against a vampire. The guy had taken her before Dean had really understood what was happening and then the chase was on. 

They had followed the pair back to the nest, Dean trying to figure out how the two of them were going to take apart a whole nest of unknown numbers, save however many of the six girls that were still alive and keep Sam from beating the crap out of Hope. He really didn't think it was going to be possible. 

They had made it into the heart of the nest without coming across any vampires which was kind of suspicious only to have their asses handed to them by a couple of dimwit lackeys. Right up until that smug pretty boy vamp was back dragging a strung out Hope behind him Dean had been convinced it was a set up, that Sam had been right all along and he had just been too stupid to see it. 

Dean had tried to get the upper hand but the guy had threatened Sam's life and since when did vampires use guns? The guy had seriously been watching too much Underworld. Sam's life meant more to Dean than anything so he had sunk back down onto his knees, gritting his teeth as he patiently waited for the right time to strike but he had never got the chance. 

The guys head was the other side of the room before Dean had registered what was happening and then he had been to stunned to do anything but stair slack jawed and shocked at what he had seen. Hope had been all calm confidence and excitement, no trace of the drugged up mess she had been just moments ago. 

The suspicion was back at full force because no one could act that well and the drugs would have been in her system before she got the chance to throw up. A vampire wouldn't have missed that either, even if he was preoccupied with his own vanity. 

Before Dean could do anything though the rest of the nest was upon them, full of rage and swinging their own weapons around. He had managed to take the head off of one vamp but before he could even swing his machete back up another one was on him. 

The last thing he could remember was the wall hurtling towards him and Sam screaming his name before pain shot through his head and everything went dark. 

Sighing Dean sank back into the chair he was slumped in, the soft worn leather a familiar comfort, the gentle hum of the engine lulling him into a hazy state somewhere between asleep and awake. The Impala. He was in the Impala safe and still all in one piece though his throat stung like a bitch. 

Sam had made it out then. That was good and if he was driving it meant he was relatively unharmed though Dean had drive almost eighty miles before with a busted shoulder so he shouldn't jump to any conclusions before he had taken a good look at his brother. 

As Dean sat there, eyes shut tight against the hazy light he started to process more of the world around him, the gentle hum of the Impala fading into the background. The air was warm, warmer than it should be this time of year so the heater had to be on, though it really didn't need to be. The car was just getting to that stage where it was uncomfortably warm and if Sam didn't turn the heating down soon Dean was sure he was going to melt. 

There was a faint smell of apples in the air tinged with something vaguely like sulphur but cleaner almost like Cas smelt but sweeter. Dean didn't recognise it, couldn't remember being near some who even smelled remotely like that. He supposed it had to be from the warehouse, the smell soaking into their cloths and skin like they were giant sponges. 

Now that he was more alert Dean could hear the faint murmur of voices coming from the stereo, turned down so low that the words were only just audible if you strained to hear them. Scrunching his face up in concentration Dean tried to figure out what song it was Sam was listening to. He really hoped it wasn't any of the whiny emo crap he liked because he really couldn't be dealing with that right now. 

It was only as it went into the chorus that Dean recognised the unmistakable squeak of the singer. Groaning Dean turned in his seat until his back was pressed against the door, his eyes still tightly closed against the light. "Dude, Bon Jovi? Really Sammy, I thought even you had better taste than that". 

Gentle laughter filled the car but it sounded all wrong. That couldn't be Sam could it? Dean knew his brothers laughter, could pick it out of a crowed but this, it sounded familiar, sort of like Sam's but not as deep, more lighter, feminine. "Hay there sleepy head".

Dean's eyes snapped open, his hand slipping down to grab his gun as he pushed himself up. When his hand just slid against his sweaty skin Dean started to panic, his mind reeling with all the possibilities but the constant chant of fuck fuck fuck playing in the back of his mind was really distracting. 

Hope's gentle laughter filled the car as she shifted in the driver's seat, smiling brightly as she watched the road ahead of them. With something close to trepidation Dean watched as she took one hand off the wheel and leant forward slightly, her eyes never leaving the road. 

His eyes darted down to watch as Hope slipped her free hand into her left cowboy boot. Dean sucked in a deep breath, tensing as he prepared for whatever she was about to do. He would jump her but he couldn't risk crashing the car, not again. 

Jerking back Hope thrust her hand out towards him. On instinct Dean shoved himself back against the car door, the handle digging painfully into his back as he tried to put as much space as he could between them. Smirking Hope spun his gun round in her hand till the handle was facing him. 

Dean stared at the offered weapon, unmoving and unsure of what to do. He was still a little foggy from the blow he had taken to the head and the fact that it was this women in his car was kind of confusing. "Sorry, didn't think it would be that comfortable with this jammed into your spine and I didn't want to lose it". 

Slowly Dean lifted his hand towards he outstretched one. Though his hand wasn't shaking he could feel his nerves trembling through his body. Was this a trap? Was she just waiting for him to take the bait and then that was it, no more Dean Winchester? Had Sam been right all along and she was a cold blooded killer?

But she had saved their lives, had risked her own to go back for them and get their sorry asses out of trouble. If she was going to kill them surly she wouldn't of done that, that is unless she wanted the pleasure of ending their lives herself. 

That didn't explain why she had been in Fort Worth in the first place, unless she was stalking them. Getting to know her victim before hand, lulling them into a false sense of security before she took their lives. She wouldn't be the first thing they had hunted to do that and she sure as hell wouldn't be the last. 

Keeping his eyes trained on her Dean curled his fingers around the handle. As soon as he had a good enough grip Dean yanked his hand back and quickly started to fumble with the gun, checking over it to make sure it hadn't been tampered with and that it was still loaded. 

Hope's way to cheery laughter filled the car once more, pushing Dean on in his haste to reassemble his gun. Once the magazine clicked back into place Dean griped the gun tightly and pointed it at Hope's head, the muzzle only a few inches from her temple. "Where's Sam?"

Hope sighed, her smile falling from her lips. Something dark flickered across her features before it melted away and she was smiling again. It all happened so quickly that Dean thought he might of imagined it but he was sure something had been there. Something dark and deadly just pulsing under the surface. 

"You know a hello wouldn't go amiss. Maybe a thanks for saving your sorry ass from becoming the weekend buffet". Frowning grimly Dean ignored her words, pushing the muzzle of the gun tight against her head. He didn't have time to play games with her. "Where is he?" 

Hope didn't flinch from the extra pressure being put on her head or even at the angry bark of his words. All she did was role her eyes as if she had been expecting this sort of reaction from him, as if people threatened her life every day. "Ugh, relax he's in the back sleeping it off".

Dean snapped his head to the side, eyes wide and searching. As soon as he saw his brother sprawled out on the back seat Dean dropped his gun onto the chair next to him and darted forwards, the back of the chair digging into his stomach in his haste to reach Sam. "Sam". When he didn't get a reply Dean shoved his two fingers against Sam's neck, checking for his pulse. He sighed in relief as soon as he could feel the steady pulse beating strongly under his fingers. 

Dean dragged his eyes over Sam's unconscious body, doing a quick once over to assess the damage. There was a circular bruise forming in the middle of his forehead and five dark angry splodges on his neck, looking to much like finger prints for Dean's liking. Maybe Sam hadn't been as lucky as Dean had hoped. 

Sam was led on his side facing the front of the car, his legs curled up and his right arm pulled tight against his chest, his large hand curled up on his shoulder blade. Dean could just see a ring of much darker bruises poking out of the cuff of Sam's shirt. They looked so much worse than the ones that Dean had left there, so much more violent. 

Dean couldn't tell if there was any permanent damage or if Sam's arm was broken. He would have to wait until they got to a motel and Sam was awake so he could have a closer inspection. Till he could kiss the pain away and make stupid naive promises about keeping Sam safe that he would never be able to keep. 

Pushing himself back Dean slid round into the chair, his hand sliding down to grasp his gun. He didn't think Hope would be stupid enough to attack him whilst he was armed but if Sam was right about her than maybe she didn't need to actually touch him to attack him. Tad and that other women hadn't shown any signs of physical violence apart from the burn marks so there was no telling what had been done to them. 

"That guy is as big as a moose, there was no way I was going to fit his lanky ass up here as well as you so I put him in the back. Figured he would need that extra little bit of space more than you would". Frowning Dean bit his tongue so as not to agree with her. He didn't trust her and refused to have something in common with her. 

He didn't have a clue where they were, didn't know where she was taking them. It could be somewhere remote and completely off the grid for all he knew. Somewhere where she could string them up and drain them dry with her freaky powers, just like that body out in Salt Lake. 

As Hope flicked the right indicator and turned onto a new road realisation dawned on Dean and instantly he felt sick, anger boiling inside of him. "You're driving". Hope turned her head slightly so she could look at him, one eyebrow raised at the obvious question before she turned back to look at the road. "Well yer, someone had to".

She was using a tone of voice that was similar to the one that Sam used when Dean had said something so stupidly obvious that meant he was only just restraining himself from smacking Dean round the back of the head for even bothering to say it at all. Scowling at her Dean tightened his grip on his gun. Only Sam and Bobby got to talk to him like that, it was a families right. 

"You're driving MY car". He sounded pissed and rightly so. No one touched his baby, not no one apart from him and Sam and on occasion Bobby. Hope laughed loudly, flashing him a bright smile and showing off her perfectly white teeth. "I didn't think you would appreciate me leaving her behind". 

Changing gear Hope speed up, pushing the Impala closer and closer towards one hundred. Clenching his fists Dean only just resisted the urge to bat her hands from the wheel and demand she stop fucking with his car. He would have done it if he didn't think she would crash without her hands on the wheel. "What about your car? The 67 mustang". 

Hope was full out laughing at him now, acting as if Dean had just told her a really good joke. Finally calming down after what felt like hours but in reality was only a minute or so Hope shook her head slightly and eased back into the driver's seat, looking far too comfortable for Dean's liking. 

"Dean, you and me both know that cars not mine". As she spoke Dean found himself getting angrier and angrier with her. Her flippant attitude of the whole matter, the way she acted like she just belonged there, all of it grating on Dean's nerves until he snapped. 

"Pull over". The demand came out as nothing more than a whisper but he knew she had heard it. Her green eyes flickering over to him before she darted them back to the road. "What?" "Pull over". His voice came out stronger this time, sounding much more like the demand it was. "We're like three hours away, can we not just..."

"I said pull over!" Dean barked the order, all his anger and frustration evident in those few words. Sighing Hope began to slow down, her eyes darting along the side of the road as she looked for somewhere to stop. A minute or so later she was pulling over onto a large grassy clearing. 

As soon as the car was stopped and the engine off Dean was pushing the door open and pulling himself out , dragging his gun along the seat behind him. As he rounded the front of the car Hope swung the driver's side door open and slipped out, closing it with a soft click behind her. 

She looked somewhere between bored and annoyed, as if Dean was wasting her time and that only managed to piss him off even more. As soon as he was in front of her Dean shoved her back against the car, only just missing the wing mirror. His grip was tight on her shoulder as he brought his gun up to push it against the side of her head once more.

Her green eyes widened in shock as her hands shoot up in surrender. "Who are you?" Dean barked the question at her, voice low and demanding. He wanted answers and he was going to get them now before she had a chance to do anything dangerous. "Wesson. Hope Wesson". 

Wesson, Dean knew that name he was sure of it. He had heard into somewhere, somewhere important but he just couldn't think where. Dean Pushed her back against the car a little harder and keeping his eyes cold and features stern. "What were you doing in Fort Worth?"

She looked up at him with wide eyes but he couldn't see any panic in them, just shock and a faint trace of amusement. "Why were you there?" When Hope failed to answer him Dean pushed the gun more firmly against her head, hoping the threat of getting shot would get her to talk but all she did was drop her hands back down to her side and smile sadly at him. 

Dean's eyes flickered over to the door next to him, a slight movement catching his eyes. The door creaked as it was pushed open and Sam quite ungracefully hauled himself out groaning as his muscles protested against being used after so long being relaxed. Sam looked rough, rougher than Dean had seen him in a while. "The girls".

At Hope's hushed words Dean turned his attention back to her, raising an eyebrow as he waited for her to continue. "Girl's were going missing, one every week for the last month or so. I couldn't just ignore that". 

Hope was staring up at Dean from where she was sprawled against the car, her tone deadly serious as she glared up at him, silently daring him to say she was lying. "You're a hunter". Both of them turned to look at Sam as he spoke, his voice rough and scratchy as if he hadn't had a drink in days. 

Suddenly everything made sense, well almost all of it so why hadn't they thought of it earlier? The fighting skills, the way she had managed to outsmart a vampire, hell to her they had probably screwed up her hunt. Though he supposed she could be lying. There was no way for them to verify what she was saying. "All my life".

Darting his eyes back to Hope she smiled sadly at them, her green eyes seeming dimmer than they had been just moments before. There was something there, some sort of sad story that every hunter had because no one got into this life without a reason and that reason was normally a loved one drenched in blood and now six feet under. 

Pulling away from her Dean let his gun fall suddenly feeling like the biggest dick around. Hope visibly relaxed as she pushed herself away from the car and straightened up to her full height, her hand coming up to rub at her shoulder were Dean had been holding her down. "Where were you taking us?"

Dean felt like kicking himself, why hadn't he asked that? Surly it was probably one of the more important things he should have been demanding to know, but Sam had always been better at him when it came to asking stuff like that, that's why Dean let him take the lead on most of the witness interviews they did. They all just opened up to him and it had to be something to do with that puppy dog sap voice that just screamed safety, comfort and understanding. God Dean hated that voice.

Sighing Hope shoved her hands into her jeans pockets, the action causing her jacket to be pushed back slightly. For the first time since he had awoken Dean noticed she had a shirt on, the logo on the front faded and hardly recognisable. Dean was glad she had decided to change because he seriously didn't think he would have been able to concentrate with all that skin on display. 

Leaning casually back against the car Hope darted her eyes between the two of them before they settled on Sam. "Sioux Falls, South Dakota". Dean's eyes widened as her words sunk in, his blood running cold as panic started to seep into his very core. Turning his head Dean looked at Sam for some sort of explanation to this crazy but he looked just as shocked and horrified as Dean felt. 

Taking a deep breath Dean turned back to Hope only to find her already staring at him expectantly, waiting for his next question that she had to of known was coming. "How...why there?" Dean could feel his insides tingling with a mix of dread and anticipation as he awaited her answer. 

He was going to ask her how she had known about Bobby's but decided against it at the last moment. They didn't know if she knew specifics and giving out names like that would only get other people in trouble and he couldn't be doing that to Bobby. 

The thing was that they didn't just advertise to anyone that they had a safe house of sorts out there and the only people that knew about Bobby's that were still alive were Cas and Crowley. A brief thought that she might be working for that smug bastard of a demon flashed through Dean's mind and he mentally kicked himself for not testing to see if Hope was a demon or not before they had started this little interrogation. How stupid could he get?

"Well Bobby lives there doesn't he?" As soon as the words left her mouth Dean was on her once more, gun pressing against her head as he slung the other arm across her chest, pushing his body against hers and using his own weight to hold her down. "How do you know about Bobby?"

Dean growled the words out, his angry eyes locked on her wide ones, a faint flicker of panic lighting them up. "Sam get the holy water and the rope out". He didn't miss the quirk of her lips as her eyes widened impossibly more with shock. Good, she should be worried. 

Sam didn't move at first and Dean knew he was staring at him, could feel his eyes boring into him. It made Dean's skin tingle and his heart thump that little bit louder, knowing that he had all of Sam's attention but now wasn't the time, they had work to do.

Dean was just about to tell him to move his ass when that tingling sensation of being watched disappeared. The sound of the trunk opening followed soon after accompanied by the soft creak of old hinges protesting their usage. "Dean". 

He cut off her pleading voice as he pushed down harder against her chest and for a split second he thought he saw a flicker of real panic in her eyes as she gasped for breath. Maybe he was on the right track then. Maybe she was a demon just playing with them, unnecessarily making their life that little bit harder just for fun. 

As the trunk slammed shut Dean turned his head to watch Sam as he quickly walked back towards him. His face grim as he held out the bottle of holy water. Pulling his gun back Dean shoved it into the waistband of his jeans before snatching the bottle out of Sam's outstretched hand. "I'm a fan".

Slowly Dean turned his head back to Hope, not quite understanding what she meant. Hope was looking down at the floor, she looked ashamed, almost like she would rather be doing anything else then telling them this. "I'm sorry you're a what?"

Sighing Hope darted her eyes back up to his, a small glint of determination in them now, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "The books, the Supernatural ones". Dean jerked back, feeling dirty just being near someone that had been near those damned books. The idea that she knew enough about them to take them to Bobby's from those stupid books was enough to make Dean feel sick. 

"You read those books?" Hope turned to look at Sam, her lips quirking up into a sad sort of half smile at his question. "Yer. I was um, I was working a case out in Olympia. I was looking up some stuff about tricksters in the library when some punk kid comes up to me and starts trying to hit one me. As soon as he realised I wasn't going to give him the time of day he started rambling on about these books. Said that if I liked stuff like this I should check out this series of books and it just so happened to be my lucky day because hay the library just happened to stock them. Curiosity got the better of me so I lifted the first one and took a look. You can imagine how surprised I was when it turned out to be spot on, well spot on about everything important anyway". 

She hadn't taken her eyes off of Sam as she spoke and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't glad about that because this was getting a little too weird for him. A hunter that was a fan of a serious of books that showcased how shit the life of a hunter was, not really something he ever thought he would come across. "You stole a book from the library?"

Jerking his head round to stare at his brother Dean only just suppressed the urge to smack him upside the head because really what the fuck Sammy? All that and he picks up on the fact that she stole from a public library, not that she now had a vast amount of knowledge about them that Dean really wasn't comfortable with. She stole a car worth around thirty-two grand just a few days ago without a second thought, stealing a book probably didn't mean more to her then taking the soap out of a hotel room. 

"Well yer. It's not like our kind can go around getting library cards is it". Sam scowled at her, the tone of her voice condescending as she stared at him like he was stupid. Before Dean could tell her to back off because no one spoke to Sam like that she was already talking again. 

"Once I read the first one I needed to know more. It took me a few months but eventually I managed to get my hands on the whole set. Once I got to the apocalypse bit I knew they were for real so I started going back over them taking in as much info as I could. Those books have saved my ass more than once, not to mention the amount of time they have saved me on research". 

Dean knew he was looking at her as if she had grown an extra head and it was spewing Enochian but it was kind of life shattering finding out the books that had been written about your life by a borderline alcoholic that were meant to become the next gospel of heaven were being treated the same way he would an ancient text from hundreds of years ago. He disserved a minute or two to freak out. 

"So what you just carry a box of books around with you?" He really didn't know why he had asked, curiosity most probably but still a dumb question none the less and he regretted it the moment Hope turned to look at him, green eyes burning into his. "Don't be stupid".

And there it was, that condescending twang now aimed at him. Dean couldn't explain why it hurt so much to have her speak like that to him but he knew he didn't like it. "Do you know how many books are in the series? I scanned them all onto a disk". 

"Huh". Sam was looking at her now with something between curiosity, wonder and suspicion. The two of them stared at each other for a long few minutes, as if they could figure the other one out just by looking at them. It was kind of strange to watch and Dean really didn't feel like spending the rest of the day watching them two mentally dissect each other. 

"Not that this isn't fun and all that but how about we get this freak show on the road". Both of them slowly turned their heads to glare at him, both of them looking as pissed as the other. It was eerie the way they were both standing there tall and ridged as they glared at him, brows creased in almost the exactly the same way. It was bad enough when Sam looked at him like that but with two? Dean just wanted to punch something. 

Taking a step forward Dean thrust the bottle of holy water towards Hope. "Drink it". For the first time since they had gotten out the car Hope smirked at him, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she raised an eyebrow at him. Dean glared at her, taking another step forward. 

Chuckling to herself Hope pushed away from the car and gently pulled the bottle from his hand. Dean watched with bated breath as she unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to her still smirking lips. Winking at Dean she tipped the bottle back and took a deep swig of its contents. 

Pulling the bottle back she scrunched up her nose slightly, her green eyes looking a few shades darker than before but that was it. She didn't double over gasping in pain, her eyes hadn't turned black. She looked just as smug and amused as she had before Dean had dragged her from the car. "See, not a demon. We done now?"

Frowning Dean snatched the bottle back and thrust it towards Sam as he pulled the rope from his brothers grasp. "Turn around". Hope was looking at him as he imagined he had been looking at her just moments ago. "I'm sorry, you what?"

Smiling sarcastically Dean grabbed her by the arm and forcibly spun her round, pushing her back up against the car. Groaning Hope let her head fall against the top of the car with a dull thud, her body going limp as Dean pulled her arms behind her back and started to secure her wrists. "This isn't necessary you know".

Turning to look at him over her shoulder Hope smiled sadly, her green eyes wide and pleading, so much like Sam's puppy dog ones. For a split second Dean thought about untying her bonds and apologising for being such a dick to her but a hard mental slap soon put an end to that. 

They didn't know her, didn't know if she was telling the truth or not and Dean would be damned if he was going to put Sam in any unnecessary danger just because he had had a weak moment and given in to the spell she obviously had over him. Yanking the rope tighter Dean smirked at the small hiss of pain that escaped from between Hope's clenched teeth.   
"Yes it is because I really don't trust you". Finishing the last knot Dean spun her back around and levelled her with his best don't fuck with me and I won't kill you stare. "And until we can prove you are who you say you are you ain't being left to roam around just so you can go and stab us in the back latter". 

Grabbing her just above her elbow Dean yanked her forward and flung the back door open, shoving her inside. Bending down he kept one hand on the door and the other on the frame. Hope looked up at him from where she was sprawled across the back seat, glaring at him with cold green eyes. 

Suppressing the shudder that wanted to rip through his body Dean smiled brightly at her, keeping his voice light and happy as he spoke. "Oh and if you ever touch my car again I will rip your fucking arms off". Winking at her Dean pulled himself back up and slammed the door on the young women's angry protests. 

Wiping his hands on his jeans Dean turned back round to look at Sam who had remained shockingly quite throughout most of his 'discussion' with Hope, only to find him already staring at him with confused eyes. "What?"

Dean barked out the question as he stepped forward, plucking the bottle of Holy water out of Sam's hands. As soon as his hands were free they were shooting up in that universal sign of surrender as if Dean was going to rip his head off just for looking at him funny. 

Frowning Dean spun back around and marched towards the trunk. This day was just getting to wired. "Not that I'm complaining but why the sudden change of opinion? I mean just this morning you were defending her now you got her tied up in that back of the car and your threatening to kill her". 

Sighing Dean yanked the trunk open, quickly pulling the false bottom up and propping it open with the shotgun. "She touched my car". Dean mumbled half heartedly as he slot the bottle back into its place. They didn't have time for this. She was probably half way out of those knots by now and they still had a good few hours to go before they got to Bobby's. "Dean".

Sighing Dean turned his head to stare at Sam. He looked confused which was unusual but not totally alien on Sam's features but that wasn't what kept his attention. The five large dots on Sam's neck were ugly and angry looking, standing out horribly against his skin. Dean didn't even want to think about how hard the guy must have been squeezing for them to be that colour so soon. 

They were nothing like the ones Dean gave him. He had been given permission to leave those marks on Sam's skin. They had been given as a sign of love and trust and Sam wore them proudly. These were ugly and tainted, signs of violence and hate and Dean hated them. He would have to get Sam a turtle neck or something because he wasn't going to spend the next few weeks looking at them. 

Darting his eyes up Dean took in the circular bruise on Sam's forehead were the gun had been pushed against his skull. It didn't look as bad as Dean thought it would, didn't look as horrible as the other ones did and he supposed that was something. "How you doing Sammy?"

Sam frowned at the sudden change of conversation but didn't make any attempt to change it back witch Dean was way to grateful for. Instead he shrugged his shoulders, wincing slightly at the movement. "Fine I guess. I don't hurt as much as I thought I would. I mean the guy knocked me around quite a bit but I don't feel like it".

Dean nodded his head in agreement. Sam was right, Dean had taken a beating, the worst he could remember since Lucifer but he didn't feel like it. Come to think of it he was pretty sure his skull had cracked when it hit the wall but all he had now was a slight headache. Surly he should have passed out buy now due to bleeding on the brain. 

Sam was moving forward, taking the few short strides until he was standing right in front of Dean still looking confused as hell. "And I know this is going to sound stupid but I'm sure the guy broke my wrist and I know he pretty much reduced my windpipes to dust but I feel fine Dean. No worse than when you and me spar". 

Sam's eyes were wide as he stared down at Dean, looking every bit as desperate and determined as he sounded. Dean's eyes zeroed in on those five purple and black splodges on Sam's neck and he knew Sam shouldn't be talking, shouldn't be breathing because to get marks like that someone had to squeeze pretty tightly and do some serious damage along the way but what Sam was saying couldn't be true. "Bones don't just heal themselves Sam".

"I know that Dean but he..." "He couldn't have". Sam frowned looking every bit like an angry kicked puppy. Dean instantly felt bad because surly Sam would know what had been done to him but bones don't reset themselves and they defiantly cant heal in the space of a few hours. Only angels and demons can heal like that and they wouldn't have left the physical marks behind. 

"Look, let's just wait until we get to Bobby's and then we can try and make some sense out of this crazy circus". Sam's only response was a small jerk of his head, the movement so small that if Dean had blinked he was sure he would have missed it. 

Dean knew Sam was upset? Annoyed? Angry maybe? Who knew, maybe it was a mixture of all three but what he did know for certain was that Sam was going to spend the next three hours or however long it took to get to Bobby's sulking like a little bitch. He should apologise, he knew that but not because he was sorry because he really wasn't but because he just couldn't be dealing with one of Sam's world famous sulks right now. But before he could even open his mouth Sam was talking again, his eyes cast down so he could look into the car through the back window. 

"What we going to do with her?" Sighing Dean laid the shotgun back down, letting the trunks false bottom fall back into place. Gently closing the trunk he turned to look at Sam, franticly trying not to look at the marks on his neck but they were practically screaming for his attention. 

"We take her to Bobby's". That was obvious right? It was the only thing they could do right about now that didn't involve out right torturing her and Dean really didn't want to go down that road again. "Check her and her story out then you and Cas can go at her hammer and tongs". 

Sam's eyes darted up to Dean's, surprise flashing behind them, flickering out just as quickly as it had appeared. Sam smiled grimly, nodding his head slightly. Dean frowned, Sam obviously had something to say so why keep it to himself. He never had before so why was he starting now. It was strange and freaky and Dean would call him out about it if he wasn't so grateful this conversation was over. 

"Let's just get there first then see how things go". Straightening his slumped posture Sam gave a curt nod before he was spinning on his heels and stalking round the car to the passenger's side door. Dean stood as still as he could, staring at the trees in the field next to them as he listened to the door open with a soft creak, the car rocking slightly as Sam slid his large frame inside, using those short moments to regain some of his quickly dwindling calm.

It wasn't until the door closed with a loud click that Dean started to move, taking a deep breath before he yanked his own door open. Slipping into the chair Dean subconsciously ran his hands up the steering wheel as if to sooth some imagined injury she might have sustained from having another person driving her. Yanking the door closed he turned the keys that Hope had left in the ignition. The engine roared to life, the sound reverberating through his bones and rattling along his jaw. 

Bringing his hand up to readjust the rear view mirror Dean caught a glimpse of Hope. She had pulled herself up and was now sitting in the middle of the backseat. Her face was blank, devoid of any emotion, her lips set in a thin line and her green eyes so dark they looked almost black. 

Once their eyes met Dan found it hard to look away, seemingly trapped in those dark pools. The longer he stared at her the more he started to wonder why she was here, why had she even bothered to save their lives and take them someplace where she thought they would be safe. It was going way above the norm even if she was a fan of those damned books. 

Sighing Hope turned her head away, braking whatever spell that had kept Dean in place. Scowling Dean let his hand fall away from the mirror, his eyes following the movement. This just wasn't his day. Without a word Dean pulled back out onto the road, his mind running in circles as he tried not to think about the women in the back, tried not to look at her every few minutes or so. 

Sam sat still next to him, staring out the window as the scenery flashed by. It was the most awkward, uncomfortable car journey Dean had been through since Sam had let Lucifer out of his cage and considering the shit they had been through since then that was kind of impressive. "The girls, what happened to them?"

Sam hadn't even bothered to turn around as he spoke, still gazing out the window as if nothing had happened. Darting his eyes back up to the rear view mirror Dean watched as Hope sank back into the seat a small smile on her lips and a genuine look of sadness about her, well Dean thought it was genuine. 

As she spoke Hope stared at the back of Sam's head, her voice low and calm just like his had been when he asked the question. "There was three still alive. They were banged up pretty bad, one of them even needed the hospital. After I got you two out and torched the bodies I busted their cell open and called the cops. We were half way out of the city before the cops even got there. The last time I checked the girls were all fine and they didn't have no leads on who killed their captors". 

The car fell into an uneasy silence as the three of them lost themselves in their own thoughts. Hope didn't attempt to get out of her bonds, didn't even try to get them to let her go, just scowled blankly down at her knees. Sam continued to stare out the window, so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't even complain when Dean slipped Blue Oyster Cult into the cassette player, chucking the Bon Jovi tape into the back. 

Dean continued to watch the road disappear under them, occasionally stealing glances at the young women behind him who was responsible for their current situation. The next three hours were going to seem like a life time, a horrible, awkward, uncomfortable one but a life time none the less and hay Dean's life almost always felt like that any way so no big deal really. 

Dean didn't bother to turn the heating down, why not make it uncomfortably hot in the car as well, it was going to be a shit journey either way. Cursing gently to himself Dean wished he had had to foresight to take a quick swig out of the bottle of Jack's that he kept shoved behind the holy water because if they were going to make it to Bobby's he was going to need a stiff drink or he was going to end up shooting someone and not necessarily himself either.


	11. I Will Never Lie To You Unless You Deserve It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean want's to know more about Hope and is willing to do almost anything to find out who she is, though Sam would rather just ask her. If only he could get past that feeling that he knows her then he should be fine, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So another one again, sorry it took so long it's been one of those months. As always only Hope belongs to me. I'm sorry if you spot any mistakes, my heater is broken so my fingers are pretty numb right about now. Please, please review because I would love to know what you think. I hope you are having a good day, night or whatever other time of the day you are reading this. All the best and thanks for sticking with me.

By the time they got to Bobby's the sun was just starting to set, the sky sub-coming to that golden red tinge as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Bobby was waiting for them on his porch, shotgun in hand and aimed at the car, scowling like he always did when they showed up uninvited dragging whatever problem behind them, except this time they were quite literally bringing their problem to him. 

Slamming the Impala door shut Sam glanced behind him, watching Dean silently shut his own door before he moved to the back, his expression just as grim as it had been all those hours ago as he shoved Hope into the car. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, a look that Sam had become too familiar with over the years. 

Sighing Sam turned back round and started towards the old house, keeping his eyes cast down so he wouldn't have to see the disapproving glint in Bobby's eyes as Dean pulled a bound Hope out the back of the Impala. The car journey had been one of the most uncomfortable car journeys of his life and he had been in some pretty long and uncomfortable journeys in his life, most of them involving his dad. 

In a few quick strides Sam was up the rickety steps and standing next to Bobby on the porch. Finally he looked up, his eyes locking on the older man as he stared down the barrel of his gun, watching intently as Dean dragged Hope round the side of the car and towards them. 

"Hay Bobby". Sam's voice sounded small even to him, wary even and that in its self was kind of strange. Two days ago he would have been all for tying Hope up and interrogating her till she couldn't remember a time when they hadn't been threatening her with pain and making promises to release her if she only told them what she knew but now, now he felt like the biggest dick around because this girl had saved their lives and the only thanks they had given her was to threaten her life and treat her like the scum of the earth. They had no proof that she wasn't exactly what she said she was, but at the same time they had no proof that she was that person.

"Sam". Bobby sounded grave, suspicious and he had every right to be. Neither him or Dean knew exactly what they were dumping on him. For all they knew it could be a blood thirsty, god like being or a fellow hunter who was suffering the negative consequences of helping a Winchester. 

If it did turn out to be the latter - which seemed to be becoming the more likely option with every second Sam spent with her - then Sam was going to have some major apologising to do because Dean would never say sorry to anyone who wasn't himself, Cas or Bobby and he only ever did that when he really messed up. 

Turning to look at his brother and the young women of questionable origins Sam watched as they made their way up the steps, Dean holding her tightly by the elbow but thankfully he didn't have his gun out, well not this time anyway. Hope was smiling brightly, her eyes alight with excitement. She was practically buzzing with it as she bounced up the stairs, Dean pretty much being dragged behind her.

Once they made it up to the porch Dean look every bit like he wanted to tell Hope to calm the fuck down or strangle her, whichever one came first. Bobby lowered his gun eyeing up Hope as if he would be able to tell what she was just from looking at her. Dean smiled slight, nodding his head in way of greeting. "Hay Bobb..."

Hope cut across Dean, shoving him back slightly as she shouldered her way in front of him so she was directly in Bobby's line of sight. "Bobby Singer". Hope breathed his name, sounding very much like a teenage girl meeting the latest Hollywood heartthrob, she even looked like she might faint. It was kind of disturbing really, with a hint of vomit induce nauseas thrown in for good measure.

Bobby shot Sam a disbelieving look and all Sam could do was shrug his shoulders in answer. He had spent the whole ride here with her asking questions that were just on the edge of to personal. Like when she had almost caused Dean to crash the car when she asked if he had really had the audacity to think he was that good in the sack to take an angels virginity. Dean had spun round, mouth hanging open as he struggled to form whole words whilst Sam dissolved into a fit of laughter. 

That all ended quickly though when she asked about Madison and things had just got more uncomfortable after that. He supposed it didn't help that he had told her to shut the hell up but he really didn't want to think about his shit track record with women and how they all seemed to end up dead one way or another. 

"I am a huge fan. Your just...your kind of awesome. I would shake your hand but mine are otherwise preoccupied". Smiling wide and far to charmingly Hope turned so he could see her hands, wiggling her fingers. Turning back round she tilted her head back to look at Dean, still smiling like they were all friends and that Dean hadn't just been threatening to torture her as they drove up the driveway. 

"We would have been here sooner but someone had to stop every time they thought of something else I could be". Dean huffed out his annoyance, shoving against Hope's shoulder causing her to rock forward slightly on the balls of her feet. Laughing gently as if Dean had told her a joke Hope pulled her head back up to smile sweetly at Bobby. She seemed so calm and collected that Sam was seriously starting to suspect she was on something because no one should be this okay with the fact that she was mostly likely about to be tortured for information. 

"Right. We better get inside and try and sort out this mess you two idjits have gotten into now". Bobby turned sharply, yanking the door open and disappearing back inside. Laughing Hope spun around, waggling her eyebrows at Dean as she started to walk backwards towards the door, smiling brightly the whole time. Growling Dean stalked forwards grabbing her by the arm and forcibly spinning her around as he dragged her through the still open door. 

Sam stood unmoving on the porch, listening to the world around him and the faint sound of Dean talking to Bobby as he stared unseeingly at the door. What if he had gotten it all wrong? What if she was simply a hunter, just like them?

She seemed so young, still full of that ignorant confidence that most hunters had when they first started out. She couldn't have been in the game that long, couldn't have seen any of the real bad stuff yet that would give normal people nightmares and strip her of that childish delusion that the world wasn't all that bad. 

He felt sorry for her. Sorry that she had ended up becoming this instead of being a normal person who's only worries were what college she should be applying to or how much the latest Justin Bieber cd cost. When she got to Bobby's age she would be telling people that she survived the apocalypse when she should be telling her grandkids that she had been there when the first black president was elected. 

But despite all that Sam didn't trust her, not completely any way. There was just something about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on that made him suspicious of her, made it impossible for him to believe everything she was telling them and wasn't that a sad thought.

He could remember a time when he had had blind faith in everyone and everything, when he trusted stupidly. When he saw the good in everyone and if a pretty girl had told him she was a fan he would have been charmed and slightly embarrassed but that would have been it. He would never have suspected her to be a monster, a murderer. He had lost that childish naivety somewhere along the line and though he was a better man for it, a better hunter it didn't change the fact that he missed it, missed that feeling he used to get when his faith in people had worked out for the better. 

Sighing Sam turned and slowly made his way inside, pulling the door closed behind him. They were all in the study, he could hear their muffled voices getting louder the closer he got. As he rounded the corner he got a good look into the room and the occupants inside. Wow Dean wasn't wasting any time getting down to business. 

Hope was now seated on an old looking hardback chair in the middle of the room, her hands tied tightly to the arms of the chair. Dean was leaning casually against the doorway into the kitchen watching Hope with cold calculating eyes as Bobby rummaged through his desk. 

Hope was still beaming up at Dean, smiling brightly like this was the best day of her life and she was having the most fun imaginable. Sam really hoped they were wrong, that he had been wrong because it was kind of nice to see a hunter that was still that happy, that hadn't been totally fucked up by all the horrific shit they had seen but he supposed that was yet to come.

As soon as he stepped into the room Dean turned to look at him, all his anger and suspicion just melting away until he was smiling softly up at Sam. Sam couldn't help but smile back as he tried to lean as casually as he could against the doorframe, hands shoved beep into his trouser pockets. He desperately needed to change out of these clothes because really, he looked like a high class hooker and he really didn't need Dean getting ideas. Not to mention he was covered in a considerable amount of blood. 

Bobby slowly turned back round, leaning against his desk, pad and pen at the ready. Readjusting his hat Bobby nodded his head at Dean giving him the go ahead to start interrogating Hope again. Sam visibly tensed as Dean straightened up slightly, levelling Hope with a hard stare, his green eyes dark and dangerous. "Who are you?"

Hope tipped her head to the side slightly, looking at Dean as if he was something new and confusing. The action was so similar to Cas that Sam instantly jumped to the obvious conclusion. She could be just another douche bag angel screwing around with their lives for a bit of fun, a little payback for messing up their precious apocalypse. It took Sam embarrassingly long to remember that Dean had already tried that one, angel banishing sigils and all. 

Just as quickly as all her emotions seemed to change Hope snapped her head back up and smiled brightly, her amusement evident in her eyes and the tone of her voice. "My name is Hope Wesson. I'm twenty-six years old and was born in 1985 just outside of Nashville, Tennessee. My parents are Jonathan and Marie Wesson. I am a only child. My favourite colour is blue. I like strawberries. I'm a Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and frisky wo..."

"Okay we get it". Hope smirked knowingly at Dean as he cut her off with his angry words, causing him to glare at her even more. Sam made a mental note to ask him about it later, when it was just the two of them and there were no annoying little girls around to wind either of them up and no Bobby watching them with his suspicious all-knowing eyes. 

"You said your parents were hunters, what are they now?" Hope turned to look at Sam, all amusement draining from her as her smile fell. Sam's eyes locked with her cold green ones and instantly he felt trapped in her gaze, unable to look away even if he wanted to. "Dead".

That one word made Sam's blood go cold. There it was that one thing, that one life altering act that had sent her stumbling down the path of a hunter. "How?" Hope turned back to look at Dean as he spoke, releasing Sam from the strange hold she had had over him but her cold eyes didn't stay on him long, instead falling to the floor. She shrugged as best as could considering she was tied to a chair. 

"Demons". Of course it was, it was always demons. She looked so small and sad as she shrunk back into the chair, seemingly collapsing in on herself. All trace of the cocky, smug, youthful girl was gone, replaced instead with sadness, regret and self hatred. She looked years older somehow, like she had already seen a lifetime of hurt, had had to do things that no normal person would have been able to stomach and Sam could relate to that. 

Sam felt the urge to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, that she was safe now. He didn't move from the doorway though, to shocked at the sudden need to comfort this stranger to do anything but stare at her with wide eyes, his heart thumping so loudly in his chest that he was surprised no one else could hear it. 

Sighing Hope tipped her head back so it was resting on the back of the chair, looking up at the devils trap that was painted on the ceiling above her. "I was young, too young to really understand what was going on. All I knew was that something bad had come into our lives and taken my family away from me. It wasn't until a few years later that I found out exactly what it was that had killed them. I never looked back after that". 

The room fell into a defining silence, the absence of sound so noticeable that it seemed to consume everything. Everyone was staring at Hope, unmoving as if the world around them would shatter into a thousand irretrievable pieces if they did. 

Sam could feel his pity for this girl swelling inside of him, crashing over him like a tidal wave. Sure he had had a rough start to life, his mum had been killed because of him, before he even had a change to remember her. His dad had become a crazed monster hunter who loved to drink, which meant him and Dean had been dragged around the states never staying in one place long enough to become more than a distant memory. His family had been broken in more ways than one but at least he had had Dean, had had his farther though he would never have admitted to that last one at the time. 

He had had some resemblance of a family but she had had all that ripped away from her. She had been left alone in the world, unable to do anything to stop the horror around her. He had been too young to remember anything that had happened that night, to even know what had been going on but Hope had been old enough to know what was going on yet young enough to not be able to stop it. It was no wonder she had become a hunter, it probably seemed like the only option to her.

"You getting this all down Mr Singer or would you like me to repeat it for you?" And just like that the morbid atmosphere disappeared. Bobby huffed as he threw the pad and pen back onto the desk. Dean shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes darting over to the window and Sam knew he was trying to think of something to ask her next and trying not to dwell on the shitty hand life had dealt her. 

Hope rolled her head forward, her bangs falling in front of her eyes. She smiled sadly at Sam, a small quirk of her lips, her deep green eyes glistening with unshed tears and something inside Sam just broke. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pushing away from the doorframe and stalking across the room, slipping his pocket knife out as he went. 

He could feel everyone's eyes on him, boring into his flesh like red hot pokers as he swooped down next to her and slipped the knife under the rope wrapped around her right wrist. "What the hell Sam!" Sam ignored Dean's outraged cry, quickly moving to her other side and cutting her free. He only just managed to slip the knife back into his pocket before Dean was on him. 

Dean grabbed his shoulder tightly and yanked him back, away from a wide eyed Hope who was looking at him as if he was a crazy axe waving murderer. Dean spun him around, greeting him with the same sort of look, except Dean's lips were pressed into a thin line where's Hope's mouth had been hanging open slightly in shock. 

"Are you crazy?" Dean's angry whisper reverberated around Sam's head, rattling around his skull like lose change in the Impala's ashtray. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he was finally starting to lose it after all the shit he had been through but he had seen something in Hope that had reminded him to much of his teenage self, his emotion locked up inside as he tried to be a good little solder for his dad until one day he just cracked. 

She hid it behind all that false bravado, keeping it hidden behind charming smiles and smartass remarks. On second thought she was more like Dean than him. This revelation left Sam shocked, surprised that Dean was being so hostile with her. They were so alike they would probably get on like a house on fire, but maybe that's why he was treating her the way he was. Maybe it was because he could see himself in her that had him changing his tune so drastically. 

Dean sighed when Sam failed to answer him and was already moving away towards Hope when Sam found his voice once more. "Look at her Dean. I mean really look at her". Dean turned his head to stare at the young women who hadn't moved from the chair. Hope had moved closer to the edge of the chair, absentmindedly rubbing at her red wrists as she glared at the floor in confusion. "What if we are going about this all the wrong way?"

Dean was glaring at Hope now, his dark eyes boring into her as if he could burn a hole right through her. Sam could tell she knew she was being watched, she had gone ridged in her seat, his fingers stilling on her wrist. She looked tensed, ready to spring into action the moment anyone should do anything to harm her. "What if we just asked Dean".

Dean's nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath, Sam could feel his hot breath against his neck causing his skin to tingle. Nibbling the inside of his lips Sam took a deep breath before he ploughed on with his desperate little plea. "She saved our lives, there has to be a reason for that and if we just asked instead of threatening to kill her every time she opened her mouth maybe we would get somewhere". 

Dean glared at Hope for a good few minutes and Sam stared pleadingly at his brother the whole time. He knew he could get the information from Hope if Dean just gave him the chance to do things his way for once. He wouldn't have to raise his voice or make idle threats, he could get it all from just smiling his understanding little half smirk and flashing her his puppy dog eyes. It was a tried and tested method and it hadn't failed him yet. 

Groaning Dean's shoulders deflated, his whole posture slumping as his frown softened. "Fine but if she drains you dry it's your own fault". Huffing Dean stormed back to the kitchen, slamming the doors shut behind him as he mumbled to himself about stupid little brothers. 

Smiling gently in what he hoped was a reassuring manure Sam made his way back towards Hope, only just noticing that Bobby was nowhere to be seen. Sinking down onto his hunches Sam gazed up at Hope, smiling softly still as he tried not to think about how stupid he was being. Just because she hadn't done anything yet that would sagest that she was a killer didn't mean she wasn't, she could just be biding her time for all he knew, waiting for him to do something stupid like sink to the floor in front of her complete defenceless. "Hay..."

"Thank you". Hope's quite voice cut across whatever it was he was going to say, those two worlds making any thought about questioning her disappear. She sounded so small, so earnest that Sam was shocked, not totally convinced he had actually heard her. Her green eyes went impossibly wide as she looked down at him a tangled mix of surprise, pleading and false naivety.   
He felt trapped, unable to move from her gaze and compelled to do anything she asked of him all at once. It was a foreign feeling but one he had heard Dean speak of often enough to know what was happening. Was this how people felt when he used his puppy dog eyes on them?

Mentally slapping himself hard, several times, Sam managed to kick himself back into gear, back to the here and now. "I should be the one thanking you, you did save my after all". She smiled softly down at him, her eyes full of something that Sam couldn't quite make out, something along the lines of regret and hope but he couldn't understand why she would be feeling them. Though considering the way they had been treating her since they woke up he supposed she could be regretting her choice to save them. 

"Think nothing of it". Sam laughed gently, amazed at how casually she brushed of the fact, as if she did that sort of thing every day. Dropping his head down slightly so he could look up at her through his lashes, his eyes landed on her hands as she continued to absentmindedly rub her thumbs over her rope burned wrists. 

They were as smooth and as unmarked as a small child's, no sign of a hunters life on them, but that couldn't be right. Sam had been so sure he had seen a vampire clawing at them and he didn't know why this hadn't occurred to him before, too caught up in his own thoughts to notice much more than Dean's ever growing anger. He was positive that the vampire had reduced her hands to noting more than scraps, ripping the skin from the bone in his attempt to get free yet there wasn't so much as a scratch or even a bruise on her tanned hands. 

Frowning slightly Sam ran back through the last ten hours , trying to re-envision the scene but everything from the warehouse was foggy, like the details had been covered in a cloud of smoke. Almost like something had tried to wipe the whole thing from his mind and had only left him the barest of details, just enough to know he had been there and the basics of what had happened. "You think me a monster". 

Sam's head snapped up at Hope's whispered words, his eyes wide in shock. Everything he had been planning to ask vanished from his mind, chased away by the one thought that this was it. Hope smiled sweetly at him, a knowing glint in her eyes and suddenly Sam found himself stuttering for an explanation, anything but the real reason they were doing this to her. "I...we don't...it's not like..."

"It's okay. I understand, you know considering everything you have been through. Strangers that turn up randomly almost always tend to be the ones that screw you over, though sometimes that person is closer to home than you would like".  
Sam knelt there, unmoving and unsure of what to do now. Yes they suspected her, it was kind of hard not to, but her being a stranger wasn't the only reason they didn't trust her. Things just didn't add up and somehow all of it seemed to revolve around her, had all started when she first showed up. 

"It's just a precaution". Sam went with the soft and calm voice he usually saved for questioning witnesses, the one Dean hated so much, figuring that it was probably his safest bet right about now. Slowly he slid his right hand off the arm of the chair where he had placed it to help balance his weight and placed it gently on hers, stilling the small movements of her thumb as she moved it in small circles over her pulse. 

Her skin was burning hot under his hand, radiating heat like a small furnace. She was to warm, like she was burning up. He could already feel his palm starting to sweat, the heat becoming uncomfortable quickly. Was she sick? Had he and Dean been so caught up in their own thoughts and pointless arguments to notice she was ill? But she looked fine, healthy. Sam was pretty sure he hadn't seen anyone look like they were in that good of health for a good few years, but something had to be wrong, normal people just don't run that hot. 

"You are a bad liar Sam Winchester". Frowning at her Sam yanked his hand back off of hers, subconsciously rubbing his palm against his thigh. Hope laughed gently, smiling down at him with a sort of fondness and truth be told Sam wasn't so sure if he liked that look or not. "It is a good thing. I didn't mean it as an insult". 

Still frowning slightly Sam nodded his head in understanding, though he knew he was a damned good liar, was the world's leading expert on it if you didn't include demons or angels. Shifting slightly Sam sighed in discomfort. His knees were starting to hurt, protesting against being bent for such a long period of time. He really needed to stand up soon or his knees were going to seize up and he would be stuck like this. 

Sighing he placed his hands back on the arms of the chair, the hard wood digging into his palms as he began to push himself up, his knees cracking as he stretched his legs. Hope never took her eyes of his as he rose to his full height, towering over her but he didn't feel big, didn't feel he had an advantage over her. If anything he felt more vulnerable, more exposed to her charming smiles, soft words and sparkling eyes. 

"There is nothing else for me to tell you that would convince you of who I am, so why bother Sam. Unless you want me to tell you every last detail of my life, I could always start with how I lost my virginity?" all the tension he had been feeling since he had woken up in the back of the Impala and realised what was going on just seemed to melt away as she smiled suggestively up at him, wiggling her eyebrow almost comically. 

Smiling Sam shook his head in slight disbelief. "No, I think I'm good without that". Hope smiled wide at him flashing her white teeth, eyes alight with mischief. It made Sam nervous. Dean had a look almost exactly like that and it only ever showed when Sam was about to be on the end of one of his annoying pranks that normally left Sam looking if not feeling a little worse for wear. "You sure because it was awesome". 

Chuckling nervously Sam turned and started to make his way into the kitchen were Dean and presumably Bobby were waiting for him. Quickly he pulled the doors open slightly, slipping through the gap, Hope still talking as if Sam had said nothing against knowing that sort of thing about her. "We were in this abandoned church, dead of night, stars shinning above. You know real romantic crap. The guy was way older than me and had these stunning blue eyes and a massive di..."

Sam quickly slammed the door shut, cutting off whatever Hope had been about to say. He could hear her laughter through the thick wood, could picture her lounging back in the chair, her head thrown back, her long hair cascading down the back of the chair, her eyes tightly shut as she laughed full heartedly. A true picture of happiness. 

Smiling Sam turned to face the other occupants of the room only to find them both staring at him as if his eyes had turned into the deep black pools that showed him for the monster he really was. Instantly his smile fell. He felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water over his head then slapped him round the face. 

Bobby was the first to move, shaking his head slightly as he turned back to the fridge. Dean on the other hand continued to glare at him, waiting for him to explain himself but for the life of him Sam couldn't force the words out. He didn't completely trust Hope but he wasn't so sure now that she was the thing they were hunting. It seemed him and Dean had done a complete one-eighty on each other without even realising it. 

Sam watched as Dean slowly opened his mouth, his lips beginning to form words that would condemn the young women in the next room. Sam could already hear his rough angry voice reverberating around his skull, the sound of it ingrained into his memory over the years. Before Dean could get the words out though Sam found his voice, blurting out the words before he could really think about what he was saying. 

"I think she's telling the truth". Dean's mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide with shock before they narrowed and his anger started to show. He looked thunderous and Sam instantly wanted to take it back. He had no idea why he had said that, didn't even know where those six little words had come from because he didn't think she was telling them the truth, well not the whole truth anyway. Hope was definitely keeping something from them, he knew that but he had said it anyway. 

It had just kind of rushed out because he knew if he didn't say something Dean would be back in there and things would get far to physical way to quickly because she just seemed to rub him the wrong way, and if they did turn out to be wrong then Dean would never forgive himself. And Sam couldn't, wouldn't let Dean do that to himself, not if he could prevent it. 

Sam could see that Dean was trying not to yell at him, that little vein pulsing on his temple but Sam knew he wouldn't be able to hold his anger in for much longer, it was the one emotion he seemed to be unable to control. Franticly he tried to think of something that he could do that wouldn't get him punched or alert Bobby to how fucked up their relationship had become, but just as Dean was about to start yelling at him Bobby saved his ass like he had done a thousand times before. 

"Now that's sorted you two idjits getting back to work or what". Slamming the fridge door closed Bobby pushed his way between them and made his way over to the old rickety dining table. Sam turned slightly to watch the older man as he grabbed a newspaper of the top of the stupidly large stack of newspapers and print outs. Bobby spun back around, surprisingly well balanced for a man of his age and slapped the paper against Dean's chest causing him to let out a small grunt. 

Quickly Dean's hands shot up to grab the paper, flipping it over so he could scan over whatever Bobby had highlighted. As his eyes darted across the page Dean's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Looking up Dean raised an eyebrow, giving Bobby his standard 'what the fuck' look. "Cattle mutilations. In Nebraska. Really Bobby?" 

Bobby levelled Dean with a hard, stern stare and Sam could physically see his brother back down. Could see it in the way his eyes softened and dropped down slightly, in the way his ridged posture deflated a little. Bobby was probably the only person left alive that Dean would never really argue with, he respected the guy way too much. Respected him just as much as he had their farther. 

Sighing Sam held his hand out gesturing for the paper as he stubbornly refused to get angry at Dean and his pathological need to follow someone's orders but never Sam's. Dean scowled at him, slapping him hard in the chest with the paper. So Dean was still mad at him then, always good to know. 

Huffing out an annoyed breath Sam yanked the paper from Dean's grasp and flipped it over so he could see the article. Bobby had drawn around it with a thick read pen and underlined certain words he seemed to think were important. It reminded Sam of homework and the stupidly long essays he had used to write for school, not that his work had ever had that much red pen on it.

Taking a deep breath Sam started to scan over the article, taking in as much information as he could. It seemed that over the last week or so in and around the small town of Harrison cattle had been found with their stomachs sliced open and their intestines missing. The local police had absolutely no leads and were desperate for any member of the public had information on the perpetrators to come forward as soon as possible. 

Chewing on the inside of his lip Sam looked up at Dean before darting his eyes over to Bobby, trying to think up an answer to the question he knew was coming. "So, what we looking at?" And there it was, Dean's rough voice cutting through the silence and Sam instantly darted his eyes back to him, an answer already on the tip of his tongue. 

"Witch maybe". Looking at his brother questioningly briefly before glancing back down at the paper. It seemed to be their sort of thing. They used animal innards and blood for a whole host of spells and rituals but to hell if Sam knew why they would need so many cow guts. "That the case out in Harrison?"

All heads snapped to the side, eyes narrowing as they landed on Hope who was casually leaning against the door frame, watching them with a wary interest. Sam hadn't even noticed she was there, didn't even hear her open the door and let herself in. Who knew how long she had been standing there for, watching them, analysing them as they fought and worked. It was surprisingly unnerving to know he had missed something so important. 

"What of it?" There Dean went again, sounding like an unhealthy mix between suspicion and anger. Hope raised an eyebrow at Dean and his outburst before she pushed away from the door frame and made her way into the room. 

Hope gracefully slipped between them, never once touching them as she made her way over to the table, smiling sweetly up at Sam as she passed him. Quickly she started to rummage through the pile of newspapers, brows furrowed in consideration as she searched. "Well if it is then you are wasting your time. It's just kids being bored and looking for something to do. It's a few weeks away from Halloween so why not fake some satanic witchcraft stuff to freak out the yokels. I mean who hasn't done that before". Turning to look over her shoulder Hope smiled brightly, winking at them before she turned back to the papers. 

Dean looked murderous, that little vein in his forehead pulsing as he clenched his jaw. He was just about to yell at her, no doubt for being so flippant and suggesting that they terrorized innocent people for no reason other than for shits and giggles but Hope got there first, knocking the top few papers out of the way with a small flick of her wrist so she could get to one half way down the stack. 

"Where you need to be heading is Iowa. The town of Lenox has had several disappearances in the last two day, which just so you know there happened to be a full moon and about this time last month they found the body of the local librarian with her heart ripped out so I'm thinking werewolf". Making a small noise of triumph she spun around, a paper clasped tightly in her hands.

In one quick move she was spinning around and coming to stand next to Sam. She held the paper out to Dean looking at him with bright eyes and a devious smile, daring him to prove her wrong. And just like Sam knew he would Dean took her up on the challenge, snatching the paper from her hands and glaring down at the article. 

Sam watched his brother, holding his breath in anticipation as Dean skimmed over the page, his anger fading from his eyes with every sweep they made over the words. Hope gently nudged Sam in the side with her elbow and Sam reluctantly tore his eyes away from Dean to look down at her. 

She was bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet, smile wide and eyes just as bright. She looked like a little puppy who had been promised a juicy bone and a good long walk and Sam had to fight the urge to bring his hand up and ruffle her hair. 

Instead he smiled gently down at her, trying to will her to calm down but all it seemed to do was make her bounce even more, looking up at him with such a genuine look of excitement and happiness that Sam couldn't help but smile widely down at her, some of her excitement rubbing off on him. 

He couldn't understand why she was so happy they were looking into a case she had found, he assumed it was to do with the fact that they were her two most favourite fictional characters. Her idols as she had called them on one of the many times they had stopped to poke and prod at her. Well that and the fact that it seemed Dean was considering thinking about taking on a case she had found, that she had done all the leg work on. 

Dean huffed and shoved the paper at Sam. Quickly he snapped his head round, fumbling for the paper as he realized that he had been staring at Hope the whole time Dean had been reading. Dean was glaring at him again and Sam had the good sense to look slightly embarrassed and apologetic. He really didn't need to make Dean angrier than he already was. "How you know that the cow stuff is just kids?"

Dean turned to level Hope with a hard stare and instantly she stopped with the excited bouncing, her smile falling. Something in her eyes shifted and Sam found himself looking down at the young women he had caught a glimpse of before. She looked harder, older, every part the monster hunter she was claiming to be. 

"I looked into it, caught the little shits going at it. Cow tipping gone bad they called it. I sent the video evidence to the local boys in blue about two days ago so it should all be sorted by now". Dean stared down at her the whole time she was talking, some of his anger fading. "Huh". 

Dean nodded once before he pushed past her, purposely slamming into her shoulder. It didn't seem to faze her though as she smiled triumphantly, looking every bit like the little puppy who had just been called a good little girl. He could practically see her tail wagging. 

"Sammy go check the car". Sam stood in stunned silence, staring at his brother in disbelief. He had just been threatening to kill her no more than twenty minutes ago and now they were going to follow a lead she had given them, just trusting that she wouldn't be sending them into a trap. This day was getting a little bizarre even for him, it didn't help that he felt like he was getting whiplash from Dean constantly changing his mind every five seconds. 

Nodding his head Sam turned to head out the room, mentally running through supplies they were going to need. He thought they had enough silver bullets but he wasn't one hundred percent sure, they might need to borrow some off Bobby. "Where do you think you are going?"

At Dean's low, threatening voice Sam froze. He was sure Dean had just told him to go and make sure they were ready to hunt a werewolf, not in so many words but that was what he had meant, right? Confused Sam slowly turned round to ask Dean what the hell he was playing at only to find him staring at Hope who had taken a few steps forward as if to follow him. 

She was staring at Dean with wide confused eyes, almost like she couldn't quite understand what he had said. "I was going to check my bags to make sure I had everything I would need before we left". Her voice was low and cautious, staring at Dean as if the slightest move would cause him to physically lash out at her. 

Instead Dean smiled at her, the one he normally used when monsters were getting a bit too smug for their own good. He hated that smile, wanted to claw it off his brothers full lips. "I don't think so princes". Hope's eyes opened almost comically wide, her mouth falling open in shocked amazement. 

Moving forward slightly Dean continued to smile at her, tilting his head back slightly so he could look her in the eyes, but despite the height difference he still managed to look ten times bigger than her. "You see I meant what I said. I really don't trust you and I will be damned if I'm going to let you tag along when for all we know your setting us up to die". Dean's smile fell as he spoke, his voice taking on a slight edge.

"You, little girl are staying right here where we can keep an eye on you and when we get the evidence that you are who you say you are and only then can you leave". Dean raised an eyebrow at her in challenge but when all she did was continue to stare at him he let out a huff of amusement before shoving past her and heading towards the door.

Sam stood frozen to the spot unable to take his eyes of Hope, watching closely for any sign of protest but she was still staring slack jawed at the space were Dean had just been. "You comin' Sam?" Sam snapped his head round to look at Dean who was now standing in the doorway looking at him expectantly.

Dumbly Sam nodded taking one last glance behind him at Hope, waiting for the other shoe to drop. As he stared at her Hope snapped her mouth shut, her eyes narrowing as they got darker. Sam could feel the anger rolling off of her and all of a sudden he wanted to shove Dean from the room, separating the two before an actual fight could take place. He didn't think Bobby would appreciate them messing up his kitchen. He didn't think Bobby would appreciate being volunteered to baby sit the could be hunter either, he was sure to give Dean hell for it latter.

Looking absolutely thunderous Hope spun around and Sam realised he had just wasted his opportunity to get Dean out of the house by thinking about getting him out of the house. "THE HELL I WILL!" Dean stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face the angry women. He looked just as pissed as she did and Sam knew his ears would be ringing latter from the volume of their screaming match. "This is my case, my lead and you will not muscle me out with your macho crap!"

Sneering Dean took a threatening step forward, raising his hand up. For a second Sam thought he was going to hit her, back hand her across the face just to get her to shut up. Panic started to bubble away inside of him as he readied himself to dart forward and pull Dean off the girl and out of the house before either of them could do something they would regret. 

Sam sighed in relief when all Dean did was point a finger at her, though his relief was short lived because Dean still looked like he wanted to strangle her. "You are staying here one way or another, even if I have to tie back to the chair. Now back the fuck off lady". Dean's voice was low and dangerous, the sound holding so much weight behind it that it felt like a quick jab in the heart. Sam hadn't heard that tone of voice in a long time, Dean must be really angry then.

They were glaring at each other, trying to stare the other down. Franticly Sam looked at Bobby, hoping he had some sort of solution to this but he was giving them the same sort of look he normally gave him and Dean when they were fighting, like they were idiots and didn't have a fucking clue what was really going on. 

Dejected and slightly worried Sam turned back to Dean and Hope, seriously thinking about getting a bucket of water and chucking it over them. But Sam was saved from having to endure Dean's wrath when Hope made an indignant noise before storming past them and heading out into the hallway. Dean spun around watching her go with the same angry glare. "Where the hell do you think you are going?"

The only thing missing from Dean's angry cry was young man at the end, well young lady in this case and then he would sound exactly how their dad had when him and Sam used to fight, Sam always storming out before he lashed out and made things ten times worse. It was a scary thought to think of Dean as anything like their dad and Dean would bitch slap him back into last month if he ever brought it up but that didn't change the fact that Dean really did sound like dad, even had the same angry, twitching jaw thing going on as well. 

Briefly Sam wondered if this was how Dean had used to feel when he watched him and dad going at it, helpless to do anything but watch as the two of them tore into each other like rabid dogs. Sam really didn't like the feeling, it was making his fingers twitch with the need to do something. 

Hope flung her hair over her shoulder as she snapped her head sharply to the side so she could glare angrily at Dean over her shoulder. "To go get my stuff dumb ass". Yep definite how him and dad had used to fight. Their fights always ended with Sam storming out of the room whenever he had that luxury, silently fuming. Then like most teenage boys he would turn his anger on the nearest person and unfortunately that normally meant Dean. 

He would scream and yell, stamp his feet like a spoilt brat and yell at Dean for letting dad boss him around like he did. They all ended with Dean being pissed at him as well and in the end they all ended up angry at each other. But unlike Hope, Sam would never of had the balls to call his dad a dumb ass, well not to his face anyway. 

Hope spun round the door and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her, a loud bang of wood on wood echoing around the now quite house. Dean was still visibly fuming, the vain in his forehead pulsing as he clenched his jaw. 

Sam took an tentative step forward towards his brothers with every intention of pulling him into his arms and kissing the anger away. It wasn't until his hand was on Dean's shoulder that Sam realised what he was about to do in front of Bobby. Sighing he lightly squeezed at Dean's shoulder instead, hoping that the action looked like a guy offering his brother an acceptable form of comfort and not too much like he had abandoned a gentle caress half way through. 

As soon as Sam's hand landed on his shoulder Dean seemed to relax, all the tension and angry draining from his body like someone had pulled the plug on him. Slowly Dean turned to smile up at him. He looked exhausted, tired to the bone and ready to drop at any moment. Sam wanted to pull rank for once and send Dean off to bed for some much needed rest but if Hope was right than they only had tonight to stop the werewolf until next month and they just couldn't do that. Couldn't decide to sleep when they knew innocent people could be getting killed. 

Seeming to read his thoughts Dean nodded once and shrugged out of Sam's grasp with one easy role of his shoulder. Sam's hand fell back to his side, unable to do much more at this point in time than watch as Dean turned back to look at Bobby. He smiled apologetically before he launched into his little speech, his voice low and sounding just as tired as he looked. 

"Keep her down in the panic room until we know she's legit. I know this is a lot to ask but we can't take her with us and I know you got enough fire power to knock her ass back to wherever she crawled from if she tries anything". As Dean spoke Bobby looked at him expectantly and Sam knew he was just waiting for Dean to shut up. 

"You owe me boy". Dean nodded his head in agreement, they owed Bobby like a thousand already so what was one more. "I'll phone around, see if I can turn up some dirt. You never know, might get lucky for once". Sam really hoped they got lucky and she turned out to be telling the truth because the idea that their lives were just that screwed was giving him a headache. 

"Thanks Bobby". Bobby clenched his jaw tightly shut as Dean breathed out his thanks in one quick breath, jerking his head slightly that meant they damned well better be. "You boys be careful". Dean smiled slightly for the first time in what felt like an age. "Always are". Yer right if they were always careful than Dean was the King of England and Sam was a moose. Bobby seemed to think the same because he snorted, shaking his head as he smiled slightly. 

Smiling brighter now and a lot more genuine, Dean spun on his heels and continued to make his way out off the room. "Move your ass sasquatch we got work to do". Sighing at the stupid nickname that Dean had picked up from God knows where Sam tilted his head at Bobby, mumbling out a quick thank you before he started after Dean. 

He caught up with him just as he was pulling the front door open, his smile gone and looking just as grim as he had when they first got here. The sky was dark now, the moon steadily working its way high into the sky. They only had tonight to find and kill the werewolf and it was going to take them at least six hours to get to Lenox, even with Dean's driving so they had to leave like an hour ago.

Despite everything Sam couldn't help but feel bad about leaving Hope behind, after all it was her case but Dean was right. They couldn't trust her, not at the moment anyway and it would be better for everyone if she stayed behind, giving Dean a chance to calm down before he had to see her again. And if it did turn out to be a legitimate case then maybe Dean wouldn't be so hostile towards her. 

Yer right, who was he kidding? Dean was going to be a dick to her no matter what. Unless he suddenly found something about her that he really liked, something they had in common and Sam highly doubted that he would talk to her long enough to find that something. Oh god Sam wished the last week hadn't happened, wished that Cas hadn't dumped this shit in their laps because surly they deserved a rest.

They had stopped the apocalypse, had saved the world more than once and yet they were still chasing demons and monsters, still fighting the big bad's that wanted to rip the world apart. All Sam really wanted was to crawl into a big, soft bed that wasn't in a scummy motel and sleep for a year, wrapped around Dean and just feeling safe for once in his sorry life. 

But like most of his dreams it was an empty one because it would never come true. They didn't get brakes like that, just one job after another and that was how their lived were going to be until the day they died because that was the life of a hunter and it was the only life they knew.


	12. Once Bitten Twice Shy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean really doesn't want to be here, doesn't trust the Intel that Hope gave them and he will be damned if he ever tells her that she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So another one again, sorry it took so long Christmas really gets in the way of these kinds of things. As always only Hope belongs to me. Please, please review because I would love to know what you think. I hope you are having a good day, night or whatever other time of the day you are reading this. All the best and thanks for sticking with me.

By the time they got to Lenox the moon was high above them, the sky already starting to lighten. They only had a few hours to go before dawn and they weren't entirely sure what was going on. They didn't even know if it was a werewolf or not they were supposed to be hunting. 

Glancing up at the old abandoned toy factory that loomed out of the darkness in front of them Dean clicked the magazine of silver bullets back into place. The Impala's trunk snapped closed with a soft click singling that Sam had found the extra gun and the small silver plated blade they had picked up last month from a yard sale out in Arkansas. "So according to Hope's notes all the victims over the last six months were last seen in or around this warehouse".

Ah yes Hope, the queen of research. She had put even Sam to shame with the amount of background work she had done on this. It seemed like she had been piling evidence for a good few months now and wasn't that just perfect because it proved that she hadn't just popped into existence a week ago. Though Dean was refusing to believe otherwise until he heard back from Bobby. He wanted undeniable proof before he so much as looked at that girl again. 

He had spent the whole six hour drive listening to Sam read through her notes, listening to that slightly awed tone as he marvelled at the amount of detail she had gone into, even providing a name of the guy she believed the werewolf to be. It had all been neat and arranged and screaming OCD so loud that Dean had been surprised that she didn't have everything in lists and numbered or even alphabetised when he finally got a glance at the two inch thick folder she had shoved at him before they drove off. 

Sighing Dean pushed away from the car. It had taken too long to get here even though Dean had broken every speed limit and ran every stop sign and they had only stopped once so Sam could take a piss. But it still hadn't been enough. They had three hours tops before they missed their chance and they couldn't be standing around yapping about it when they could be taking care of it. 

"How sure was she?" Dean asked out of curiosity more than anything, he wanted to know everything he possibly could before he set foot in that place. And it's not that he doesn't trust her, because he doesn't. He really, really doesn't. It's just he has to know because this could still be a trap and Sam could get hurt and then what would he do?

He wished he could travel back in time, back to that shitty motel in the ass end of Portland and just tell Cas to fuck right the hell off. Tell him that they were busy and he could get one of his little angel bitches to do it for him, but no. That just wasn't a possibility for him, not ever an option. They were stuck here now, unsure of what they were really doing and following the directions of a girl who he didn't trust and he knew Sam didn't either, not entirely any way, no matter what he said. 

"Sure enough that she got the floor plans for this place and all the security codes". Dean was not impressed, refused to be. Hope was up to something, had to be and he would be damned if he was going to let her lull them into a false sense of security, though her charms seemed to be working really well on Sam. 

Scowling at the rundown warehouse he refused to be jealous of some wide eyed, smug, over confident, pretty girl. Oh God what was wrong with him? He was so angry, had been angry since he saw Hope in that shit little Goth bar, flashing a suggestive smile and every bit of skin she could without breaking the law. 

He felt almost exactly the same as when Sam had been sixteen and would stumble into whatever decrepit motel they were staying in that week, drunk and completely out of it. Dean always got so angry at him for being so stupid, so careless. For not telling Dean where he was going or who with or for how long and Sam knew better then that damn it. He knew that the world was a dangerous place and that he shouldn't be wondering around with his guard down because that was always the moment the world decided to fuck you over like a $5 whore. 

Dean knew he was overreacting, taking things a little too far, a little too serious and that was wired in of its self because that was normally Sam's area of expertise but it had all just kind of burst out of him with nowhere to go but Hope. She probably didn't deserve what he was doing to her but he just couldn't help himself, she made him angry for absolutely no reason.

Sighing Dean turned to look up at Sam. He dragged his eyes over his brothers to tall body, taking in every bruise and faded scar his eyes could find in the dim light of the streetlight next to them, his mind conjuring up all the other scars and blemishes, signs of their shit life that were hidden under blue plaid and his green jacket. Marks that he knew were there from memory. From spending hours mapping Sam's skin like it held all the answers he ever needed. From having to stitch the ripped and blood flesh back together. 

Slowly he raised his free hand up to gently cup Sam's jaw in a tender sign of affection that normally he would run a thousand miles away from. Slowly he rubbed his thumb against the soft skin of his brothers cheek, Sam's long eyelashes gently fluttering against the rough pad of his thumb with every sweep of the digit.

Dean's eyes flickered away from where his hand was and up to the small bruise on Sam's forehead before darting down to the angry ring of purple and black that looped around his throat. So ugly, demanding any onlookers attention as if they were a diamond necklace, shinning and twinkling in the midday sun. So dark and ugly and so easily could have be Dean's handprint squeezed into his throat, suffocating the life out of him. Breaking him. 

Slowly he dragged his eyes back up to Sam's, staring into those deep dark pools, looking for any sign that he had finally come to his senses and this was no longer okay. This wasn't what he wanted anymore. Dean wasn't what he wanted. 

Smiling gently Sam brought his own hand up to cover Dean's, turning his head slightly so he could nuzzle against his callus palm, his eyes slipping closed for just a moment. He looked so content, happy and Dean would give anything to keep him that way. "You okay Sammy". 

It wasn't a question. More of a statement than anything else to reassure himself that his brother was indeed okay, that he wasn't keeping things from him and it was really snapped bones and internal bleeding. That it was resentment and some twisted feeling of guilt and duty. A feeling of having to because Dean was all he had and he couldn't lose him so he was just going with it, just to keep Dean sweet and there. 

Dean felt Sam's lips move against his palm as he smiled, his tongue dragging against the rough skin as he licked at his dry lips. The action sent a small shiver down Dean's spin and instantly every doubt, every half formed feeling of guilt and self loathing vanished, his palm burring where Sam's lips were pushed gently against it. Stubbornly Dean refused to move, refused to brake the small shred of contact that Sam was offering him. Moments like this were few and far between so he had to make the most of them when he got them because who knew when it would be there last.

"Yer Dean I'm fine. Always fine". Dean's heart clenched as those few whispered words filled the air. Fine, always fine. Story of their life there, no matter how shit it got. It didn't matter how many bones got broken or how much blood they shed or even how many people they cared about had to be burned way, way before their time, they would still always be fine. 

Smiling grimly Dean nodded his head slightly before pulling his hand free of Sam's grasp. His arm fell back to his side, his hand tingling where Sam's lips had been pushed against his palm. He missed the touch already, wished they could go back to that, all loving glances and gentle caresses. Wished they could just be two normal guys in love with one another. Not two brothers that were fucked up way beyond belief, who hunted monsters straight out of horror movies for a living, who spent their night wrapped around one another committing a sin so unforgivable they were bound to end up in hell for it. And wouldn't that make Crowley the happiest knife in the draw. 

"We should head out, got ourselves a werewolf to kill". Dean didn't mean it to come out sounding so hopeless, so exhausted but his feelings got the better of him. He couldn't help that he felt that maybe this life, his life was just one impossible situation after another, constantly trying to brake him and push him over the edge until he couldn't take any more. Couldn't stand to breath any more. 

Thankfully all Sam did was nod his head in agreement, bringing his hand up to offer Dean the spare gun whilst keeping the blade for himself. This was familiar, though not as familiar as a salt and burn. They hadn't had the pleasure - was that the right word? - of hunting that many werewolf's in their time, this one only making it number eight. 

But the child like excitement that doing this had used to bring was long gone, buried under years of anger and self hate and disappointment and the stark reality that the world was going to Hell and it didn't matter what they did or how many monsters they killed they couldn't save it. If it even wanted to be saved. 

Shoving the spare gun into the waistband at the back of his jeans Dean clicked the safety off his own gun and started towards the nearest door, pushing away any other thought that wasn't case related. They had a job to do and the sooner they got it over and done with the sooner he could just fall into Sam's arms and forget the world existed, if just for a while. 

Moving quickly Dean made his way to the door, his fingers curling around the cold sticky metal of the handle. Frowning Dean pulled his hand away, turning it palm up so he could see the thick red goo that was now clinging to his skin. "What is it?"

Sam's chin dug into Dean's shoulder as he looked down at his brothers hand, his front pressed tight against Dean's back. "Blood". Rubbing his fingers together Dean smeared the dark red liquid over his fingertips. It was sticky, coagulated, meaning that the blood had started to clot. "Look".

Sam raised his arm, using his gun to point just to the left of the door. Four deep scratches had been gouged out of the wall, the brick smeared with more blood. Sighing Dean's body slumped in defeat. They were too late, always to late it seemed these days. Sighing gently Sam pulled away from his brother leaving Dean feeling cold and empty. 

The loud click of Sam cocking his gun pulled Dean out of his thoughts and quickly he raised his own gun and grasped the handle tightly. What had he been thinking? It wasn't over, not by a long shot and they had a duty to go in there and kill the monster that thought it could kill innocent people and get away with it. 

Taking a deep breath Dean yanked the door open and stepped inside, his eyes darting around the large room looking for any sign that it was a trap and the werewolf was waiting for them. Cautiously Dean made his way further into the room, his eyes constantly moving as he took in his surroundings. 

The room smelt of dirt and blood with an underlining tinge of motor oil. The long work benches that stretched along the walls were littered with abandoned tools and half finished toys that gave the place an even eerier look. Made it feel that little bit more creepy than the last abandoned warehouse they had been in. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust giving the room an eerie grey glow in the light of the full moon that shone through one of the grubby and broken widows high above them. 

Stopping in the middle of the room Dean slowly dragged his eyes across the floor. Blood was splattered across the floor in large puddles, smeared across the concrete as if something had been dragged through the room, but that couldn't be right. 

Werewolf's were all about the heart , they didn't take the bodies with them. Well that was unless the person had been in the warehouse already but that didn't explain the blood on the wall outside. Unless there was another victim, another poor sap that had been unlucky enough to have been wondering around alone under the full moon. 

Dean could hear Sam coming up behind him, his footsteps light and steady and as familiar to Dean as his own heartbeat. Turning slightly so he could look at his brother Dean nodded towards the large pool of blood that disappeared behind a half wall that separated the different parts of the workshop. Sam scrunched up his face in concentration, his calculating gaze locked on the dark smear on the wall. Nodding once Sam started forward, gun raised and eyes fixed on the space behind the wall. 

Dean watched Sam move for a long few seconds, marvelling at how graceful he seemed considering how big he was before he disappeared around the wall and out of Dean's sight. Dragging his eyes away from the place where his brother had just been Dean took a few steps back and circles around the back of the large room. 

The room was cold and deadly quite, the only sound his own footsteps echoing back at him. His heartbeat was steady, too many years of this to feel that heart thumping fear that had used to be there all those years ago when he had been fourteen and getting the crap beaten out of him by ghosts and demons and other Hell beats on a regular basses. 

Taking deep steady breaths Dean made his way between two large racks of toys that never got the chance to be sold. Wooden trains and tiny rocking horses, wide eyed dolls and teddy bears, there once bright paint now dull and faded, chipped in places and only just showing through the dust. 

Dean had been in a lot of creepy places over the years but there was just something about an abandoned toy factory that put it right up the top of the list of places Dean didn't want to be going to again anytime soon that also included Stanford and that dive bar out in the ass end of Nebraska where the hot little blond behind the bar had given him crabs. 

Sam had refused to go anywhere near him until he was given the all clear. He had spent just over a week holed up in some shitty motel unable to go anywhere because Sam had taken the Impala and was staying at a completely different motel, only ever talking to Dean over the phone to let him know his food was outside the door. 

Every time he had opened that door he had caught a glimpse of Sam in the driver's seat of his baby, watching him and every time he had found himself half way across the parking lot before he even registered what he was doing and that Sam was laughing at him down the phone. Telling him that he should really go back inside unless he wanted to have his precious baby fumigated. 

That week had been an odd one. It felt strange not having Sam around, too much like how it had been when he had run off to Stanford. Dean drove himself half mad until the quite, the loneliness got the better of him and he finally gave in and called Sam. 

They had spent hours on the phone that night just talking shit like brothers do, talking about everything and nothing at all. It had felt good just being brothers for once and they had done it every night until there was nothing left to talk about and Dean left the phone on loudspeaker just so he could listen to Sam moving about, could imagine he was there with him and not twenty miles away. 

They hadn't done anything remotely brotherly lately and that was wrong. When this was all over and done with, before they headed back to Bobby's Dean was taking Sam to a bar. They could have a few drinks, shoot a little pool and just pretend they were exactly what they told the cops they were, two brothers just taking a road trip around the country. 

They would have a genuine good time. Dean would flirt with every hot girl in the place but that would be it, he was a committed man now after all. Sam would do his awkward little half flirting half wanting to run away and hide thing that the kid now had down to a t. 

They would have a few beers, Dean would have a few whisky's and then they would head out to the nearest motel. Sam telling him he had had too much to drink and that he should drive whilst tripping over his own gigantic feet. It would be perfect, pretty close to Dean's idea of heaven. If only heaven worked that way. 

Dean was violently yanked out of his little dream world by the sound of a single shot echoing around the large room. "Sam". The name escaped from between his lips as nothing more than a whisper, his heart stuttering in his fear. Dean ran down the rest of the aisle, gun raised as a familiar panic started to build up inside of him. 

It was always the same when Sam was out of his line of sight and something happened that suggested he wasn't one hundred percent okay. Dean's racing heart wouldn't return to normal until he laid eyes on Sam once more and could see for himself that he was alright, alive. The brotherly instinct to protect at all times engrained into his very soul by their farther taking over until saving Sam was all that mattered to him in that moment. 

As Dean slid round the corner he came to an abrupt halt as Sam flew through the air and slammed into the shelving unit Dean had just come from behind. The shelves groaned under the impact, rocking slightly as if they were going to fall back and slam into the next one along.

Dean was at his brothers side within a heartbeat, falling to his knees so he could check him over, making sure he was still breathing, still alive. Dropping his gun into Sam's lap Dean grabbed his face with both hands and turned his pale face towards his own. 

Sam groaned, his eyelids flickering as he tried to open his eyes. Dean was seriously starting to panic now. Though he couldn't see any blood it didn't mean that something wasn't wrong, that something wasn't broken. "Come on Sammy, talk to me".  
He could hear the desperation in his own voice and he was. He was desperately clinging onto his brother, praying to whatever god would listen. Sam couldn't die, couldn't leave him. He had been through this twice before and he really didn't think he would survive a third time. "M' okay". 

Relief slammed into Dean as Sam slowly opened his eyes and smiled groggily up at him. Of course he was okay, they were always okay. Laughing humourlessly in relief Dean gently slapped Sam's cheek, his head tilting forward to press their foreheads together. "You gotta stop doing this to me Sammy". Sam laughed gently, his face scrunching up slightly in pain as his body shook. 

Groaning Sam began to move, slowly pushing himself forward as he began to pull himself up. Dean pushed himself up, his knees cracking in protest. Automatically he took hold of Sam's arm, helping to pull him up to his feet. Sam grunted as his feet slid on the dirty floor, his eyes slamming closed as his hand shot out to grasp at the self behind him. 

Once he was standing on his own two feet without clinging onto Dean or the shelf for support Dean slowly let go of his brothers arm. Sighing Sam rubbed at his dust covered clothes looking more put out than anything else, like he was starting to get bored with the constant bashing he seemed to be getting and to that Dean could relate. Could understand how all this just became another part of life. 

A low growl rumbled through the air sending a shiver down Dean's spine, his body going ridged as he slowly turned to face the door way through witch Sam had been thrown. His hand slipped behind him, fumbling for his spare gun as he berated himself for forgetting why they were here, for forgetting what had hurt Sam. 

Dean saw Sam's hand twitch out of the corner of his eye, his long fingers wrapping tightly around the grip of Dean's gun, slowly bringing it up to shoulder level. Dean didn't know when Sam had picked it up, must have been when Dean had been too distracted to pay attention to anything else put the pain on Sam's face. 

A small thrill of excitement shot through him at the sight of Sam holding his gun, his long fingers wrapped tightly around it, the muzzle glistening in the moon light just like Sam's spit had glistened in the dim light of their motel room. It didn't matter now that he had had that gun since he was eighteen, it would always remind him of Sam and the way his mouth looked stretched around it. Sucking on it like it was the sweetest thing, like it was salvation. 

But he couldn't think about that now, couldn't let it take over his mind because then he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it and the way Sam's lips felt around his hard cock as he tried to suck it right down to the base, the tip nudging against the back of his throat. He would make such sweet, wanton noises as he worked Dean over, trying his best to suck Dean's brains out. 

Violently Dean pushed the traitorous thoughts away, rolling his shoulders in a vain attempt to get rid of some of the tension he could feel crawling up his spine. "Werewolf?". Dean's voice comes out rough and choked because he really can't keep it in his pants it seems and he needed to be concentrating on the hunt and not Sam's other talents. 

By now Sam had pulled himself up to his full height, his eyes narrowed and completely focused on the doorway in front of them. He was ready, alert, geared up to kill whatever monster was waiting for him just like a hunter should always be. "Werewolf". 

Sam's firm voice confirmed the theory that Hope had been working on and despite everything he had said, despite the way he felt about her Dean couldn't suppress the annoying twinge of something that felt a lot like pride but that couldn't be right. He didn't know her, didn't have a reason to feel proud that she had been right in her theory. It was all one big tangled mess of confusion and his brain really couldn't handle that right now. 

Pushing every thought that had nothing to do with the seemingly pissed off werewolf in the next room to the back of his mind, Dean started towards the large doorway, focusing everything he had on getting this over and done with as soon as humanly possible. 

A dim light shone through the doorway, casting their shadows high up the walls. Rounding the door Dean squinted as his eyes fell on the exposed bulb of a lamp that had fallen to the floor. Half the room was bathed in a bright yellow light whilst the other half hid in the shadows. Finally adjusting to the new level of light Dean took a cautious step into the room. What he saw left his body cold as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, his eyes roaming across the carnage. 

The dull walls were covered in photographs that looked to be of at least a dozen different women, all at various points throughout the day, all looking like they had been taken from a distance. Dean recognised one of the young women, could remember the mole under her left eye. Could remember how she looked laid out on a morticians slab with her chest cracked wide open. 

The librarian that had been killed last month had been pretty. Not blond bombshell, wannabe supermodel pretty that Dean had used to go for, she was more of a classic beauty that Sam would have found attractive. She had been young and happy and from what they had read about her she had been loved by everyone who she came in contact with. But this, this looked like she had been picked, hunted. Pulling his eyes away from the bright smile of the now dead women Dean swept his gaze around the rest of the room.

An old matrices had been shoved into the near far corner, stained and ripped in places and looking like it had seen every dark and depraved sin the world had to offer. The lamp looked like it had been knocked off a small table that sat next to another door just to the right of Dean, the one Sam must of come through. Blood was splattered across the walls and pooled on the floor, some of the stains dark and crusted whilst other glimmered in the light, fresh and filling the air with the bitter metallic tang that you only got from blood. 

Dean could remember a time when that smell had made him feel sick, had his stomach churning until he was doubled over and heaving but he hardly paid it any attention now, only taking note of how much was there and how many people would of had to bleed out to leave such big pools behind. He figured it had to be at least six. 

A gentle snarl and the wet sound of something ripping reminded Dean of why they were here, of what they were supposed to be doing. Looking up from the dried blood pool at his feet Dean moved further into the room, keeping his eyes on the man crouched in the far corner, half hidden in shadows. 

The guy was hunched over the body of a young girl, her chest having been ripped open, blood and guts clinging to the wall behind her. Her head was tilted awkwardly to the side and Dean knew her neck had been snapped. Her blood smeared lips were parted in a silent scream, her green eyes wide and dull, looking up at him with a desperate plea for help that Dean knew wasn't really there, well not now anyway. Her long brown hair was swept around and across her face, the strands at the bottom of her neck drenched with her own blood. 

She looked so young, mid twenties at a push. So young and once beautiful but not anymore. Now she was bloody and broken with nothing left but an empty shell, the husk that had once held a bright burning soul. 

The werewolf was crouched at her side, clawed hands shoved deep into her chest, her blood half way up his arms and smeared across his snarling jaw. Small bits of flesh clung to his sharp fangs, his milky eyes fixed on the women at his feet and the hole in her chest. With a soft growl the werewolf jerked his arm and another wet ripping sound filled the air. 

Dean found himself unable to move, unable to do much more than just stand and watch as the guy pulled something that looked a lot like the girls heart from her chest. He could feel Sam behind him, knew from years of this that the tingling feeling he could feel clawing up his spine only came from having Sam so close. Quickly darting his eyes to the side Dean watched as Sam made his way further into the room till he was standing just behind him, his weary eyes fixed on the man hunched up in the corner as he ripped into the fresh heart. 

This was a first for them. Never had they interrupted a werewolf feeding. Sure they had got to them before or after the act but to actually see it made Dean's stomach churn and the ham sandwich he had had at Bobby's before they left was threatening to make a reappearance. Oh God he felt like he was ten years old again on his first salt and burn, that unforgettable smell of decay having him heaving his guts up till he was sure he didn't have a stomach left let alone contents to bring back up. 

Taking a deep breath to steady his thumping heart Dean lifted his gun till it was pointing at the monsters head. His aim was perfect, if he fired now he would hit the guy square in the middle of his forehead. If only Sam hadn't chosen that moment to take a step forwards. 

The old and rotten floorboards groaned their protest as Sam moved to stand next to him. Dean's eyes widened in horror as his head snapped round to stare at his brother and his new unlucky spell. Sam was frozen in place, eyes wide and looking just as panicked as Dean felt, like he had just stepped on a trick wire and if he moved he was going to blow up into a thousand tiny pieces. 

A low, menacing growl filled the air, echoing around the small space and slowly Dean turned his head to once again face the monster they were hunting. The werewolf's head had snapped up, it's pale hungry eyes fixed on them as it snarled, exposing its sharp white fangs. It was alert and solely fixed on them, trapping them in its gaze. So this made things harder. 

This was ridicules. They were here to do a job and god damn it he was going to do it. With an exasperated sigh Dean squeezed the trigger but he had waited too long. The werewolf was flinging its self across the small gap between them before Dean could even register the movement, its hard body slamming into Dean's as he pulled the trigger once more, causing the bullet to hit the ceiling as he was sent flying backwards, hitting the blood splattered wall hard.

Grunting in pain Dean collapsed to the floor, a sharp pain shooting down his spine and OH GOD something had to be broken. It hurt. Everything hurt and it was all too soon. He hadn't quite recovered from being beaten on by that nest yet and it was too soon to be taking these kinds of hits. The new sharp pain overlapping the dull ache made it ten times worse and all he wanted was to curl up into a ball and cry till he couldn't feel it any more. 

If their hunts carried on like this he was going to end up broken and bloody by the end of the month, run down and out of time. He would be taken out by whatever monster they were fighting that week because he was half out of it from the last one and nowhere near the top of his game. He would end up like most hunters and he hoped to whatever god was listening that Sam was far, far behind him. 

A pained yell pulled Dean from his dark thoughts and like the hand of God himself had shoved him Dean was up and scrambling towards his pined brother, swinging his gun round that he had miraculously managed to keep hold of during his shot flight and unloaded the entire clip into the monsters back, moving completely on instinct and the need to protect his brother. 

With a pained howl the creature flung itself back , legs on either side of his brothers hips and its back arched. Turning its head it snarled at Dean, snapping its jaws as it made to move off of Sam and towards its attacker. Sneering Dean squeezed the trigger one last time, his final bullet hitting the monster square in the middle of his forehead. Its head snapped back with the force of the blow, its eyes going wide. Without a sound it slumped forward, collapsing onto his brother with a dull thud. 

Lowering his gun Dean slumped forward, resting his hands on his knees as he pulled in deep breaths. His energy seemed to just evaporate out of his body, like something else had been pushing him forward for the last five minutes and now it was over it just abandoned him, leaving his body to feel very much like it had just been slammed into a wall. 

"You okay there Sammy?" Pulling in a few more deep breaths Dean tried to calm himself down and once again gain control over his racing heart, but when he didn't get an answer his heart sped up tenfold, slamming against his rib cage as if it was going to burst free. 

Quickly Dean scrambled forward, a constant chant of oh god no please no running through his mind. Dropping his gun to the floor he grabbed hold of the werewolf's shoulder and yanked it back with all his strength, forcing its limp body to roll to the side and off his brother. What greeted him made Dean's panic sky rocket, his heart filling with dread. 

Sam was covered in blood. His shirt and jacket had been ripped open across his right shoulder, the flesh shredded and split open. Sam's head was tipped to the side away from his wound, his own dark blood splattered up his neck and the side of his face. His eyes were closed, his long lashed laying gently against his tanned cheekbones. If it wasn't for all the blood Dean would have thought him sleeping. But there was blood. Too much blood and Sam wasn't moving, wasn't doing anything that a living human being should be. And oh god he could see the blood, gurgling and oozing from the claw marks, could smell the iron in it. This was all wrong, so very, very wrong.

Dropping to his knees Dean lent over his brothers stiff body, ducking forward to press his ear against Sam's chest as his fingers sought out the pulse point on his neck. He was alive, he had to be. There was no after this, no more anything if he died. If his Sammy never smiled at him again, never laughed, never cried, never kissed him good morning. There would be nothing left for him without Sam.

Relief slammed into Dean like a bus. With his head pressed so tightly against Sam's chest he could hear the steady beating of his heart, could feel his chest rising and falling with ever breath he took. Turning his head he rested his forehead against Sam's chest and slammed his eyes shut, bringing both his hands up to clutch desperately at Sam's shirt as he forced back his tears.

He couldn't keep doing this. The constant fear of losing his brother was going to kill him long before any monster got the chance. 

Sam groaned and Dean instantly snapped his head up and pushed off his brother till he was hovering over him, eye to eye. Without thinking he lunged forward, grasping Sam's face in both hands before pushing his lips hard against his brothers. 

The kiss was sloppy and desperate and full of need but Dean didn't care. Didn't care that he was showing his true feelings, his weakness for Sam because that was what it was. He was weak when it came to Sam, always had been but it didn't matter. Sam was alive and that's all that mattered, was all that ever mattered. 

Pulling back after what felt like hours but was most likely only minuets Dean gazed into Sam's wide eyes, watching as they focused on him. His full lips twitched as Sam smiled gently and lovingly at him, unable to resist returning the same smile, if only for a moment. 

Letting his smile fall Dean glared down at his brother as he shoved himself away from Sam, pushing against the floor until he was once again kneeling next to him. Sam's smile feel as confusion took over. Slowly pushing himself up onto his elbows Sam stared at Dean with a mix of confusion and worry, wincing slightly as he carelessly put pressure on his injured shoulder. 

"Dean what's wro...OW! What the hell man?" Dean's palm stung slightly from where it had collided with the back of Sam's head but he didn't care, Sam deserved it for putting Dean through that kind of shit twice in the last twenty minutes. "Bitch don't do that to me ever again". 

Sam sighed, slumping back down onto the hard and bloody floor, mumbling that he hadn't planned on almost being killed twice in one day. Dean slammed his mouth shut, not wanting to point out it was technically three times in the last twenty-four hours if you counted the vampires back in Texas. He really didn't want to think about that little fact. Didn't want to acknowledge that the world had all of a sudden decided that they obviously didn't have enough near death experiences under their belts. 

Pushing himself up Dean held out his hand towards Sam, waiting for him to take the offered help. Looking up at Dean from where he was sprawled across the floor Sam sighed, lifting his uninjured arm and waving it vaguely in the direction of Dean's hand. 

Huffing out a small laugh somewhere between annoyed and amused Dean grabbed at his brothers waving hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around his wrist as he felt Sam do the same to him. In one quick move Dean yanked on Sam's arm, pulling him up and ducking down slightly to slip his arm around his waist to take all his weight . Couldn't have him stumbling and falling on his face now could he.

Sam grunted as Dean bumped slightly against his clawed up shoulder as he slipped his arm around Sam's waist, making sure he stayed on his feet and didn't end up back on his ass on the floor. It would be just their luck that Sam would slip on a pool of his own blood and end up knocking himself out. 

They would have to go to the emergency room because Dean would panic and he wouldn't know what to do. There would be questions he wouldn't be able to answer and accusing looks and so much uncertainty but worst of all was the thought of all the constant blows they seemed to receive to their heads finally taking their toll. 

There could be brain damage, things Sam would never be able to recover from but most worrying was the kind of hits Sam's wall was taking. What if all this damage to his brain somehow broke 'The Great Wall Of Sam' and then he could remember all the pain and suffering he had gone through in Hell, all the cruel crap he had done without a soul. That could kill Sam, send him crazy and then what would Dean do? What would he do?

It was the $1000 question that Dean didn't know the answer to. If the past was anything to go by he would do something stupid and reckless that would leave Sam hating him for his choices, resenting him for doing that to himself and to Sam and it would hurt like a thousand hell hounds ripping into him but at least he would still have his Sammy, the way he was meant to be and not a drooling mess on the floor of a padded cell. 

Shoving the poisonous thoughts away Dean pulled Sam tight against his side, wrapping Sam's long arm around his own neck before gripping his wrist tightly. Sam grunted as Dean pulled him closer, his eyes drooping closed. He had lost a fare bit of blood, not enough to be in need of a hospital but still enough that he was pretty out of it. 

"Come on Sammy, let's get you back to the car so I can stitch you up". Sam mumbled something that sounded a lot like bodies but Dean really couldn't be sure. Glancing down at the body at his feet Dean sighed. They needed to burn them or bury them, something to hide the evidence of what they had been up to but Sam came first. They could prat around with all that latter, after he got Sam cleaned up and stitched back together. 

"Latter, you first". Sam grunted a reply but weather it was positive or negative was anyone's guess. Taking a steady step forward Dean half dragged Sam along beside him, his feet sliding along the floor as he tried to keep pace with Dean for once. 

This was a familiar routine, one of them dragging the other along beside them as they mentally ran through everything they were going to have to do from dumping a fuck lode of holly water over the wound to clean it because that was all they had in the trunk, unless they still had that half drunk bottle of Jack under the driver's seat and Dean really didn't want to risk waiting till they got to a motel. All the way down to where he had left the needle and thread in the trunk because he was sure it was under the rock salt but Sam had had it last so it could be next to the shotgun. 

As they made their way past the body of the young women Dean glanced down to make sure neither of them tripped over any of her limbs or slipped in her blood. As his eyes landed on her dim green ones Dean sucked in a deep breath, stopping where he stood. With narrowed eyes he gazed down at the lifeless body telling himself again and again that it wasn't her.

For a split second he had seen Hope sprawled out in front of him, lifeless and bloody. The image had made him feel sick and filled him with panic that he really couldn't explain, even though he knew she was hundreds of miles away in South Dakota.   
Dean couldn't help but wonder what would of happened if Hope had come, if they hadn't of run into her in Fort Worth and taken her on a slight detour? Would she have come on her own? Would she have survived? Would the werewolf have gotten the best of her?

She fit the type all the way down to eye colour and height. He had seen werewolf's when they were on a hunt. They would go all out crazy until they got what they were after and it never ended pretty for the pray. 

Mentally making a note to call Bobby as soon as he had Sam sorted Dean began moving forward again, slowly making his way from the small back room and down the corridor that Sam had come down. It was slow going but Dean didn't mind so much, though he made sure to bitch about how much Sam weighed and that all those salads really weren't doing anything for him. He wouldn't be doing his brotherly duty if he didn't. 

And that's what Sam needed right now, his older brother and not the possessive sex starved lover that he was becoming more and more these days. When it all came down to it he was Sam's brother, first and foremost and nothing was going to ever change that. Not even a fallen angel, the apocalypse and a demon whore. They were family and family always came first  
.  
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The gentle shuffling of feet faded quickly as the brothers made their way down the corridor and back towards the Impala, retreating back to the safety and comfort it offered. Sighing in relief Hope pushed herself away from the wall where she had been hiding amongst the shadows, watching the events of the last ten minutes unfold before her and made her way into the middle of the small room that looked like something straight out of a horror movie. 

Stopping next to the bullet riddled body Hope nudged at his cheek with her foot, gazing down at it with indifference as its head lolled to the side, his long blond hair falling away from his face exposing wide blue eyes and pale lips parted in a silent scream. A single drop of blood had slid down his forehead and across the bridge of his nose from the hole in the middle of his head, the bullet having burrowed deep into his skull. 

He was young, early twenties at a push. Too young to have died so violently. She could see that he had been beautiful in life, had probably been chased by all the girls and adored by many but none of that mattered now. He was full of holes and riddled with metal, his once attractive face contorted by agony and death. An ugly monster. A killer. Hated by many and feared by all. Just like her.

But once a month his monster showed for all the world to see, to physically recoil away from in horror and disgust. Hers was hidden, wrapped around her very core. It was buried so deeply under lies and charm that sometimes even she couldn't see it, couldn't feel it pulsing under her skin, scratching away at the last bit of humanity that had survived her wretched life. 

Sighing Hope nudged at his jaw with the slightly pointed tip of her boot, pushing his mouth closed. She really didn't need to see what was left of the young girls heart to know what he had been chewing on just moments ago. Plus it was completely unattractive to have his mouth hanging open like that, like he was trying to catch flies. 

The far of sound of the door to the warehouse clicking shut pulled Hope away from her pointless thoughts and back to the world around her. She didn't have much time, was only supposed to of been checking in and making sure the two idiots didn't get themselves killed before she had a chance to win them over. She need them to trust her so completely that they wouldn't question her when she finally told them who she was and what she wanted from them. She needed them alive and safe, just for a little while longer and then they could do whatever the hell they wanted. Their future had nothing to do with her.

"Keep telling yourself that then maybe one day it'll be true". Letting out a huff of annoyance Hope pushed the smug smooth voice to the back of her mind, refusing to pay it any attention. But as she pulled in a deep breath the faint sweet tang of fresh blood assaulted her senses and left her mouth watering.

Quickly she sunk down to the floor, her knees landing in a still body warm pool of blood. This close she could really smell the blood, taste it on her tongue with every breath she took. It was overpowering, pushing in on her from all directions and left her body shaking with the need to just taste.

She could feel blood soaking into her faded jeans, turning the light blue a deep dark almost black like the night sky. She could feel it spreading up her thighs and down to her ankles, the familiar warm feeling tugging at her well maintained control. Oh God she needed. 

Collapsing forward Hope shoved her face into his neck, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his blood soaked shirt. She didn't care that she was getting covered in blood, that she was smearing it across her cheeks and over her lips. Getting it under her nails and in her hair, she just couldn't get enough.

Pulling in a deep breath Hope moaned in hunger, her mouth falling open as she sucked in the fragrant air, her eyes slipping closed in pleasure. Oh heavens he smelled so good, like a juicy steak just begging to have teeth sunk into it and rip it to pieces and she was so hungry. Starved even. She hadn't eaten in days and she could feel her power starting to subside, her body yearning for that warm wet nectar, the elixir of life itself. 

"Go one, have a taste. You know you want to". Those few words felt like being held under in a pool of ice water, choking on the cold liquid as it forced its way into her lungs. Clutching tighter at the dead man's shit Hope took one last breath then slammed her mouth shut. What was she doing?

She was better than this, had been taught better. She wasn't that desperate little girl begging her protector, her salvation for one more drop, one more hit just like the strung out disgusting humans he had told her about so many times. She had control over this, had been living with it for the past sixteen years and she wasn't going to let it take over her life, not now not ever. She controlled the monster not the other way around. 

Snapping her eyes open she slowly uncurled her fists, her knuckles cracking with the effort to prize them away from the damp cotton. She could wait, had gone longer than this before and she would be damned if she was going to let a little hunger and that smug, self satisfied bastard turn her into a desperate junkie that would sink so low as to actually drink werewolf blood. 

Smiling Hope pushed herself up off the floor and away from the body at her feet, her blood slick hands slipping against her soaked denim covered knees. "Ugh so boring". Chuckling gently Hope turned her head slightly so she could look over her shoulder at the older man who was leaning casually against the wall next to the doorway the Winchester's hand disappeared through. 

His arms were folded tightly over his chest, the sleeves of his grey shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing his pale skin. The buttons were undone showing the green t-shirt he wore underneath. His short dirty blond hair was messy and sticking up in places, looking very much like he had just rolled out of bed. His day old stubble was present as always and Hope so desperately wanted to carve it off with her bowie. 

His blue eyes were sparkling with knowing as he pouted teasingly at her, daring her to answer back and she would. They both knew it so why she was biting the inside of her lip and trying not to was beyond her because she could already feel the words bubbling up inside of her and threatening to burst free. 

"I have standards unlike someone". Laughing at the stunned look on the older man's face Hope turned her attention back to the body, giving it one last look before she started to move back towards the wall. She had done what she had come to do even if she hadn't been planning on shoving Dean off the floor and lending him her energy but the idiot had just been sitting on the floor watching his brother get ripped into like a happy meal so what else was she supposed to do? 

She had kept them alive and now she needed to get back before Bobby became suspicious if he wasn't already. None of them really trusted her as it was and she didn't need to make them suspect her more than they already did, no matter how right they were. "You'll pay for that".

Smirking she shoved her blood covered hands deep into her pockets. She had heard that line so many times in her life that it had long ago became an empty threat, except from him. He was a man of his word and he always kept his promises. "Looking forward to it". And she was. She couldn't wait to find out what he would do to her. 

With a wide smile and laughter in her eyes Hope flickered out of existence just as she stepped up to the wall, her body wavering like an old TV being turned off. The faint sound of Dean bitching at Sam the last this she heard before the world went black and everything went silent.


	13. Don't Believe Everything You Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby thought he knew everything there was to know, but Hope was never going to let him find out the truth about her and her past, well not the whole truth anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So another one again, sorry it took so long. I lost half the chapter and had to start all over again, it was a living nightmare, but, on the plus side I have finally got a Beta. YAY! So here it is guys my first betaed chapter and all thanks to the fabulous Ciar. So thank you Ciar for taking pity on me and signing up for this. As always only Hope belongs to me. Please, please review because I would love to know what you think. I hope you are having a good day, night or whatever other time of the day you are reading this. All the best and thanks for sticking with me.

Flinging the cloth over his shoulder, Bobby grabbed blindly for his ringing phone, the shrill sound rattling around his skull and making his already pounding head feel ten times worse than it was already. 

"What?" Bobby snapped at the person on the other end of the line, sounding too harsh and pissed off but it was late, or early depending on how you looked at it and he really needed some sleep right about now or he was going to shoot the next person who so much as looked at him, let alone spoke to him. 

"Nice talking to you to Bobby". Bobby's eyes slipped closed as he groaned in frustration, his free hand coming up to rub at his forehead. Of course it would be Dean. All snarky and full of attitude, not something Bobby needed right now or wanted to deal with, at all. 

Taking a deep breath, Bobby pulled his annoyance back under control, his hand falling from his brow as his tired eyes flickered open. "What you two idjits gone and done now?" he groused, turning back to the stove and blindly grabbing for the wooden spoon as he went. 

He could practically hear Dean's annoyance at the question but what had he been expecting. Nine times out of ten they only called when they needed something or when one of them had gone and done something stupid or reckless or even both. Those two had a death wish and were always trying to include Bobby in their stupidity. Though he had to admit, grudgingly, that he had had his own fair share of stupid moments throughout his life. Still, he felt sure his antics were nothing compared to Sam and Dean's at their 'finest'.

Dean's voice floated down the line, sounding like an unhealthy mix of annoyance, anger and a faint covering of humour. "Just thought you'd like to know we're still in one piece. Well, mostly anyway. Sam got a bit of a busted shoulder but it's nothing I can't fix". 

"The kid alright?" The question was out of Bobby's mouth before he could even think because, realistically, Sam had to be fine or he and Dean would be having a very different kind of conversation. Why Bobby still called them kids he didn't know. Dean had never really been a kid, not after Mary's death, and Sam hadn't been a kid since he was eight years old and Dean had finally caved and told him what their father really did for a living.

That young boy had spent the better part of the next year terrified that everything that went bump in the night really did want to eat him. But, ultimately, Sam had had Dean there to keep him safe and they had grown up to be good men, true heroes. Didn't stop Bobby from thinking of them as kids though, as his kids. 

"Lost a little blood and took a bang to the back of the head but he's got a thick skull, didn't feel a thing". Dean raised his voice on the last part, clearly aiming the insult at his brother. A muffled jerk was the only answer Dean got and Bobby could practically hear Dean smiling down the line. 

Bobby couldn't really pinpoint when name-calling had become terms of endearment for the boys but that was what it was. It was their way of saying 'I love you' to one another without all the chick flick moments that Dean professed to hate so much. Though Bobby had seen Dean have a good few of those moments over the years, almost all of them revolving around his brother. Just like everything in Dean's life. 

Sighing, Bobby let go of the phone, holding it tight between his shoulder and the side of his head, so he could grab hold of the pan and stir the eggs without the pan flying off the stove. Five in the morning and he was making breakfast, he was definitely getting too old to keep doing this, he needed rest. 

"So...werewolf?"He asked. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he caved, asking the one question that had been eating away at him since Hope had waved that paper around. He needed to know, had to know, if he had missed something. Months of something that had cost people their lives, something that he should have picked up on long ago. Dean's silence was enough of a conformation for him. 

He had missed it. After all these years spent chasing omens and signs, he had missed something important. But it hadn't just been the once, he had missed months of stories, of attacks and murders. He had even missed the part with a woman having her heart ripped out. What was wrong with him? 

"Uh, yeah. Yeah it was. Damn thing had a type though, thought Sammy was a girl. Easy mistake to make". There was another muffled jerk that sounded like it had been spoken through a pillow. "Bitch". Dean mumbled back, the usual amusement missing from his tone though, like it was nothing but an automatic reaction to his brothers words.

Bobby hummed his approval, his agreement, his whatever the hell it was supposed to be because he still couldn't get past the part where he had missed it. Glaring down at the pan he pulled it off the heat, so as not to burn the eggs, as he half-heartedly mumbled the only thing that came to mind. "Hope will be glad to know she was right".

He shouldn't have brought Hope up but someone had to and he knew Dean would be just itching to know what Bobby had found out about the girl. It was sad to see Dean so untrusting of people but life as a hunter did that to you and the hand that life had dealt those two boys just made it worse, for everyone involved. "Yeah she uh... she did good".

Dean sounded like he had had to force the words out from between gritted teeth. Bobby really couldn't understand why Dean seemed to dislike Hope quite so much. She was a pleasant enough girl, once you got to talking with her. She minded her P's and Q's, though it was unnerving how much she knew about them and their pasts, but she had offered up just as much about her own life in return. 

Picking up the pan, Bobby evenly divided the eggs between the two chipped and faded plates that sat on the side next to the stove. Silence surrounded him, apart from the gentle hum of the shower from above and the faint sound of Dean breathing down the line. 

It was strange talking to Dean on the phone while someone else moved around his house. He was so used to the other person in his home being Sam or Dean that it felt strange having someone there who wasn't one or both of them, not that the Winchesters had given him much choice in the matter. They had practically dumped the girl on his doorstep, giving him little room to argue about having his basement turned into a holding cell for suspicious people. 

"Soooo?" Dean dragged out the 'o', trying to sound bored and natural at the same time and failing spectacularly at both. Bobby could hear the question bubbling just under the surface, just begging to be answered. But if Dean had something he wanted to know he was gonna have to ask it like a normal person. "So what?"

Bobby responded, matching Dean's tone of voice .He knew what Dean was really asking him, knew what this was all about. Those boys hardly ever called him after a hunt to let him know they were still alive and kicking. Instead they had a checking-in system; call every Friday at 6pm no matter what. Apart from that, they only ever called when they wanted something. 

"So is she good or have I gotta come back and gank her ass?" Dean asked. 

Sighing, Bobby placed the pan back on the stove all the while wondering how Dean even managed to make it through life, considering how suspicious he was of people. As the pan clunked against the metal rings, the gentle humming that had filled the air stopped with a loud groan as the water was shut off.

Inwardly Bobby groaned in frustration. He didn't need Hope hearing this. She had known that they were going to check out her story. They needed proof that she really was who she said she was but she didn't need to know how deep Bobby had dug to find everything out. The floorboards above him creaked as Hope moved around the small bathroom, and Bobby sent up a silent plea that she would remain upstairs until this conversation was over. 

"No, Dean. The only thing you need to do is get your sorry ass back here and apologise you idjit". Bobby said Dean's name with a little more force than necessary, a slight edge to his words that only came out when he was angry or annoyed. 

The line was pretty much silent but he could hear a soft murmuring, half-formed words that Bobby could just about recognise as Sam questioning what was being said. He was probably telling Dean to be nice because that was how Sam was, nice to a fault until he knew otherwise. "So she..."

"Spoke more truth in the last day than you have in the last year? Yeah that's about right". Bobby said, cutting Dean off before he could say anything he would later regret and, yeah he knew his words had been a little bit of a low blow but it was true. As far as he could tell, everything she had said had been true, right down to the smallest detail. 

He had spoken to every hunter and old friend trying to dig up as much about Hope Wesson as he possible could. Every last one of them had heard of her. The ones that didn't know about her past still knew of her; had met her at one point or another, and each and every one of them had vouched for her. 

Dean had fallen silent on the other end of the line and Bobby could no longer hear Hope moving around the bathroom any more. Sighing, Bobby felt his mind slipping as all those thoughts he had been trying to keep at bay bombarded his tired mind. 

When had his life got like this? By rights, at his age, he should be retiring right about now. Maybe going fishing or playing golf, whatever dull thing old guys like him took up to pass all the free time they suddenly had, not running around after monsters and constantly putting his life under stress. But he couldn't just let those boys go at it alone, those idjits wouldn't survive long without his constant help and someone to watch their backs. 

"Yeah well, good for her". Dean's words were mumbled, only just audible, and if he had been in the room Bobby would have smacked Dean upside the head for being so damned childish. 

Frowning, Bobby yanked the oven open, pulling out the warming plate. The metal was hot against his skin, almost uncomfortably so, making his skin itch slightly. 

In one quick move Bobby yanked the plate out and dumped it on the counter, letting go of it as soon as it was touching the counter. Cursing softly under his breath, Bobby shook his hot hand in the air as if it would help to cool it down. 

Glaring down at the plate of bacon and mushrooms, he thought about just chucking the damned thing. It would make a satisfying sound as it collided with the wall but that would be a waste of time and effort, and he really couldn't be bothered to make more. After all, he had promised Hope breakfast. Sighing, he grabbed the spatula off the side and started to divide the warm food between the two plates. 

He had almost forgotten he was on the phone until Dean piped up again, demanding more than Bobby's word. "So what'd you find out?" Bobby froze, spatula half way towards the warming plate. What could he say to that? As far as he saw it, he had two options. He could tell Dean everything he had found out about Hope, right down to the last little detail, or, he could just not. 

Some of the things he had found out were personal to a point that Bobby would never want anyone to know those kinds of things about him. They were her stories to tell when she was ready, if she ever was. People had to earn the right to know these things, had to earn the person's trust and, as Bobby saw it, at the moment those two boys didn't deserve to know how deep Hope's scars ran, both physically and mentally. 

Placing the spatula back down on the side, Bobby braced himself against the counter, the small phone still cradled between his shoulder and the side of his head. He wouldn't be lying, he just wouldn't be telling them the whole truth. 

Turning round he leaned back against the counter, the wooden edge digging into the small of his back. Slowly he raised his hand up to grasp the phone and finally move his head, his neck clicking as he stretched the cramped muscle. "She was born on the 14th February 1985 to Jonathan and Marie Wesson at the family home in Dickson Tennessee. She's an only child and, as far as I can tell, she has no family still alive".

Bobby paused, those last few words standing out in his mind like a flashing neon sign. No family still alive. Hope was completely and utterly alone in this world and, from what he had dug up, no one really knew that much about her after her parents were killed, which stood to reason as she didn't let anyone get close. So why break the habit now? Why let the Winchesters in?

Dean made a small humming noise down the phone, indicating that he had taken that part in and reminding Bobby that he was supposed to be talking, was supposed to be backing up his previous words of acceptance. Rubbing at his tired eyes, Bobby took a deep breath before he continued with the life story of Hope Wesson. 

"Her parents were brutally murdered when she was six years old. When the police got there the bodies were pretty much unrecognisable, had to use dental records to identify them. They found Hope hiding in a crawl space under the living room floor". A small sound fluttered down the line, a small gasp of shock or pity and Bobby knew then that Dean must have put him on loud-speaker so Sam could hear what he was saying. That was good. Meant he wouldn't have to go through all this again. 

"The cops never found out who did it, or why, and couldn't get a word out of the kid about anything". Sighing, Bobby brought his free hand up to rub at the back of his neck. There was a lot he could say right about now. A lot that wasn't his place to go blabbering about, but he trusted those boys and it seemed that Hope did as well. Well, trusted the Winchesters enough not to kill her, or hand her over to the authorities, but still he couldn't do it. Couldn't bring himself to give up secrets that she had never told him. "Her godfather turned up about a week later, a guy named Jimmy Smith. He just..."

"Hang on, some guy named Jimmy Smith?" Frowning down at the two plates Bobby huffed out an annoyed grunt. "Yeah, so?" Why was this important? "Some guy called Jimmy Smith went and got a girl named Hope Wesson? Smith and Wesson? That don't seem a little odd to you?". 

Bobby knew what Dean was getting at, he had had the same suspicions when Hope had first mentioned her godfather but everything had checked out. It was just one of those things. "He's legit". Dean huffed out some mumbled words that were too low for Bobby to work out but he recognised the dull thud and pained grunt that followed. 

Bobby couldn't help but smile, hoping that Sam had got Dean somewhere that would hurt for at least a few hours. Bobby had been doing this since before Dean was even a twinkle in his daddy's eyes and the boy damned well deserved a smack round the head for questioning if Bobby could do his job right. 

"Yeah okay. Happy coincidence. Whatever". Dean grumbled.

Dean sounded pissed and Bobby knew he was sulking like a little girl. Dean always got like that when Sam told him off, even more so when he knew he was in the wrong. 

"As I was sayin'." Bobby continued. "He turned up a week later, signed all the necessary papers and then just took off with the kid. Dropped right off the grid. No one heard of them again till she was 16 and got arrested for braking into a church crypt out in New England. Police found her with a shovel, some salt and a bottle of gas". 

Shoving the phone back between his ear and shoulder, Bobby grabbed hold of the two plates and turned toward the small table shoved up against the wall. He had cleared away all the papers and printouts as soon as he had got the chance, not wanting Hope to see some of stuff he was working on. It was the first time in months that table had been completely clear of books and papers. It seemed so big without things stacked hazardously on top of it, giving the room a sort of empty feeling.

Shoving the stupid thought to the back of his mind Bobby placed the two plates down on opposite sides of the table. He had already set out the silverware and had even poured Hope a glass of juice, but was that right? Did she even like juice? Maybe she would have preferred tea or maybe coffee, hell maybe she would have just preferred a glass of water. It had been so long since he had had to worry about things like this that the whole experience was filling him with unusual nerves.

Huffing out an annoyed sigh, Bobby pulled out the chair closest to the door and sank into it, his whole body seeming to deflate as soon as his ass hit the hard wood. What was he doing? It didn't matter what she preferred, she was a guest in his house and would damned well get what she was given. "So...she a hunter then?"

Bobby's whole body jerked as Dean spoke; the phone falling from his shoulder. Quickly, he scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground and smashed into little pieces. Slowly he brought it back up to his ear, his mind slowly running over Dean's question. It had been one of the first things he had asked everyone he had spoken to, desperate to know that the person he had let into his home was legitimate and not about to blow his brains out. He had got the same answer from every last one of them.

Slumping back into his chair, Bobby tried to relax. It was a simple question; he had nothing to worry about. "Yeah, she's a hunter". He had seen the scars to prove it, both mentally and physically. Had seen them as she talked about her father, had seen them as she stretched up to pull a glass from the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. A lattice of puckered angry lines, smooth and pink spread out across her skin, branding her for what she was. "That's good". Dean replied, sound not even a little bit like he meant what he said. 

Huffing out a small chuckle at Dean's forced words, Bobby shook his head. That was as close to an apology as anyone was going to get out of that boy. He was as stubborn as a mule and wouldn't say sorry to no one unless he really had to.

His father had been just the same, never backing down and barging in head first without asking the right questions. When John got it wrong and came scurrying back, tail between his legs, he never uttered a word that even remotely sounded like sorry. Hell, Bobby didn't even think the guy had known what the word meant; let alone how to use it. Dean was just the same and Bobby wished that had been the only thing Dean had gotten from his father. 

"So? How's things?". Dean spoke like the words were something nasty and had to be forced out from between gritted teeth, like they were venom on his lips. 

The tone surprised Bobby, he had only ever heard Dean speak like that to or about demons, so why Dean thought Hope disserved the same sort of spite was beyond him. And Dean did mean Hope, Bobby knew he did. Knew that he wanted to know what the girl had been like without having to ask straight out. 

That was the thing with Dean, you always had to read between the lines to find out what he really meant.  
"Things have been fine". Bobby replied, putting as much force behind the first word as he could without outright yelling. He didn't need Hope to come bounding down the stairs wanting to know what was wrong. He didn't need the stress of having to explain this whole conversation to her, nor did he want to see the hurt and disappointment in her eyes when she found out how badly Dean was taking to her in general. 

"It's been just like havin' you two here but ten times less stressful and about ten times more polite". Bobby snapped. And it had been like having those two there except, all rolled into one with a little added politeness, smarts, and mystery thrown in for good measure. 

As soon as the Impala had shot off down the drive, Hope had swung her bags over her shoulder and made her way wordlessly down to the panic room in the basement. It had irked Bobby that she had known the layout of his home without having to even ask where anything was. He blamed those damned books of Chuck's, full of important information and anyone who had so much as a library card could get hold of them. 

Hope had flung herself facedown onto the small cot in the middle of the room, with as much grace as a baby giraffe, mumbling something about getting some rest whilst she still could. Bobby had just stood there watching her, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into, before she had flapped her hand in his general direction and shooed him from the room, telling him to 'go get his Miss Marple on already'. 

He had grumbled his annoyance at being treated like hired help in his own home, as he slipped from the room and made his way up stairs to start his monumental task of finding out who this girl was. And he had been so sure he had bolted the panic room door behind him, had heard it click into place, but he couldn't have because three hours later when he had finally managed to get off the phone, he had found Hope lounging at the kitchen table, booted feet up on the table top, and laptop open in front of her. A half-drunk bottle of whisky that Dean had left behind last time he had stayed for more than a few hours sat next to her feet, considerably more empty than it had been whilst she nursed a mostly empty tumbler. 

Bobby had stood there frozen, a sense of déjà vu slamming into him like a freight train. He had seen Dean like that so many times before that he had lost count, same mischievous glint in his eyes and cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was such a familiar sight but on a completely different person, yet it still managed to look natural, like it belonged there. 

Hope had raised an eyebrow questioningly at him. The movement seemed to jog him from his thoughts and in two big strides he was across the room smacking her feet off the table and telling her, that despite popular belief that wasn't how things were done in his house. She had apologised quickly, yanking her feet off the table as quickly as she could. She didn't give up the bottle of whisky though when he looked at it pointedly. 

He had been ready to take the bottle from her when she waved the glass in the general direction of the chair opposite her, silently asking him to join her. He had thought about declining but tiredness had gotten the better of him and he slipped into the chair, every muscle aching. Hope silently refilled her glass only to slide it over towards him, smiling reassuringly at him, before downing what was left straight out of the bottle. 

She had been up and across the room before she had even finished swallowing, pulling another bottle from the cupboard along with another glass. He had been reluctant to drink the amber liquid, not wanting it to cloud his judgment, but when she asked him what he knew he found himself glad to have something in his hands to stop him fidgeting like a child that had been called to the headmaster's office. The burn as he gulped it down helped as well. 

They spoke for hours about her life, her family, cases she had worked on and ones she had just let slip by, until he could no longer stand the look of regret and loss in her eyes. Until the emotion-less drawl of her voice made him wish that he was deaf. It was one thing knowing about how shit hunters lives were but listening to her talk, as if it was all hard facts, as if it was always how her life was meant to be, it was damned well depressing. 

He had left her at the table, still nursing her glass and staring blankly out the window at the night sky, almost as if it held all the answers to the questions she didn't even know she had. She was so lost in her own thoughts that Bobby didn't even think she noticed him slipping from the room to check over what she had told him.

Hours later, when the sky was just starting to get lighter, when he finally started to worry because he hadn't seen nor heard Hope since he had left her in the kitchen, he pulled himself away from his research in hopes of finding the girl still in the kitchen. When he found that room empty, he began to make his way through the house, going from room to room in search of her, growing more worried as each one was just as empty as the last. 

When he found the house completely void of any other life he truly started to panic. What if it had all been just an act? What if she had just been waiting for him to no longer see her as a threat so she could steal books, or ingredients, or some of the rare amulets and other assorted magic items he had laying about the house? What if she really was the monster Dean thought her to be?  
He finally found her out in the garage, elbow deep in the engine of some old rust bucket of a truck. She was humming along to some rock song that played softly from the old radio she had placed atop of a stack of books, on top of the work-bench. Most of them weren't even in English, hell some of them he hadn't even got around to translating yet. 

The bottle of whisky sat next to the radio, a lot more full that it had been when Bobby had seen her last, the glass nowhere in sight. That girl drank whisky like it was water, having almost drunk every bottle of the stuff he had, though she had left the real good stuff, that even Dean wasn't considerate enough to leave well enough alone. 

As he moved further into the room, he got a good look at what she was doing. She had the hood up and was practically laying flush against the engine, one hand bracing herself against the side whilst the other was shoved deep into the bowels of the vehicle, her head turned towards a book she had propped up against the open hood. 

It took embarrassingly too long for him to recognise the sweeping curves and ruler-straight lines of symbols as Enochian. It took him even longer to realise that she wasn't humming along to the song that was playing on the radio but that she was actually reading the book out loud. Her voice was low, barely more than a whisper, so he couldn't quite understand what she was saying exactly, but from the way her eyes were sweeping over the pages he knew she was reading the book. 

He had meant to ask her where she had learned to understand Enochian but she had distracted him with questions about the other books she had surrounded herself with, seeming as though her purpose was to try and make him forget what he had been so interested in knowing. Soon enough, the conversation had veered off onto other topics and as soon as she had mention that she would kill for the chance to eat a home-cooked breakfast that was it, he was offering to make her one before he could even register the words leaving his mouth, the original question long since forgotten. 

And that was how he ended up where he was now; Hope in his shower, the food getting cold, and Dean pretty much demanding that Bobby justify his decision to declare Hope trustworthy. "Good. That's good". Dean didn't sound like it was good; he sounded disappointed, angry maybe. Like it was anything but good. That boy had more trust issues than any therapist would have a hope of untangling, even with regular sessions throughout the rest of that boy's life. He got that from his father too. 

A loud bang echoed around the house, rattling the window frames, and causing the various books and artefacts to shake on their shelves. Hurried footsteps could be heard as Hope made her way from the bathroom and towards one of the spare rooms that Bobby had let her move into, after he had pulled her life apart and deemed her human. Another bang sounded through the house as she shut herself away in the room. Sighing Bobby shook his head, wondering about what kind of damage that girl was going to cause before she was gone.

“What was that?” Dean asked abruptly. Bobby could hear the edge in Dean’s voice and knew that Dean had slipped back into hunter mode, tense and alert, ready for whatever new hell they were going to have to fight their way out of this time. He probably had the key in the ignition already, ready to come speeding back to Bobby's, guns blazing and ready to kill whatever posed a threat this week.

Sighing, Bobby shook his head, a fond smile pulling at his lips. That boy was loyal to a fault; ready to defend the people he cared about without knowing all the facts first. Again, something his damned father was responsible for. That man hadn’t raised sons; he had made solders. “It’s nothin’", Bobby replied. "just Hope reminding me she's here”.

He knew she was doing it on purpose, as though if she didn’t make enough noise he would forget she was even there. It was patronising and made him feel old, older than he was. Half the time she was stumbling around like a bull in a china shop, making as much noise as a human possibly could, while the rest of the time she moved as silently as the dead. Well the dead that stayed dead and in the ground anyway.

Dean mumbled something that even Bobby couldn’t understand but sounded suspiciously like it was probably an insult of some kind. He was just about to call Dean on it, demand to know what he was mumbling about, but Dean got there first. “Sleeping beauty here is pretty much out of it, so we're gonna get a motel room for the day. Should be back at yours by nightfall”, he stated. 

Fighting the urge to laugh at Dean, Bobby shook his head in disbelief. He wasn’t going to see those boys for at least thirty-six hours, if not longer. Sure, they would find a motel, get some rest but he knew Dean. Knew that he would insist on heading to a bar first, a celebratory drink he would call it. Except that one drink would turn into ten and Sam would just sit there and watch his brother drink himself into a stupor, until he was too drunk to keep himself in check.

Dean would either hit on the wrong girl or say something he shouldn’t to a guy that wasn’t as drunk as him and just itching for a fight. Dean had a bad attitude and a big mouth to boot and he never knew when to keep it shut. His mouth had gotten him into more trouble over the years than Bobby could remember and it had only gotten worse as Dean started to drink more. Dean was growing far too dependent on the bottle, just like his daddy had been towards the end.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Bobby sank back into the chair. He had wanted a lot of things for those boys over the years, many of which that had never come to pass but he had never wanted them to end up like their father.

It wasn't that he hated John, the boys' father had had his good qualities. He had been dedicated, loyal, determined to protect those he cared about, but he had been as stubborn as an old mule, a mean drunk, and so focused on avenging Mary that he often forgot he had children in his life. It was no secret that he wouldn’t have won any father of the year awards.

He had made his boys into solders, condemning them to this life without a second thought and now they were just like him; Dean more so than Sam. They had both inherited his stubbornness and Bobby had lost count of the amount of times he had to pull the two of them apart, before an argument could turn into a fist fight, because neither of them would back down.

Knowing that neither of them would listen to him, as he tried to reason with them Bobby did the only other thing he could, the same thing he always did. “You boys be careful”, he said.

Dean huffed out a half-hearted laugh, the rough sound seeming to echo around Bobby’s skull. “Always are”. Those two words said with so much false bravado were the last thing Dean said before the line went dead, Dean not giving Bobby a chance to chew his ear off about the blatant lie.

Placing the phone down on the table, Bobby eased back into his chair, gazing out the window as he let the last ten minutes sink in. The sun was just starting to rise, the rays of light bouncing off of rusty metal and broken glass. The house was quiet, the only sound the early morning wind as it swirled around the house, rattling the windows as it gusted strongly every so often.

Damn it, he was getting too old for this shit. At his age he should be retired, sleeping in, and spending his nights reading by the fire. Not spending every waking moment running after monsters and digging through ancient texts. 

His anger softened somewhat as he began to long for a time when he could just rest, just pretend that this life was as simple as it seemed at first glance, and well, if that was only possible when he was dead, then so be it. Him and death were old friends, had courted each other in the past and Bobby would welcome him with a weary smile but willing all the same. He knew what happened to people when they ran away from their reapers and he had no desire to ever end up like that, to be the monster instead of the hunter.

“Smells good”. In one quick move Bobby yanked out the sawed off shot gun he kept strapped under the table, because being a hunter made you paranoid and all that, and spun round, pointing the gun at the doorway from where the voice had come.

Hope was leaning against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed over her chest and the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her elbows, exposing her lower arms and the spattering of scars that covered her tanned skin. She was smiling at him, green eyes sparkling with amusement. She looked as cocky and carefree as she had the first time she had walked through his door.

“God dammit girl I could'v killed ya”. Bobby's angry words echoed around the small room, as he spun back around in his chair, slamming the gun down on the table next to his phone. Hope’s gentle laughter filled the air as he sat there silently fuming, hands curled up into tight fists on top of the table.

How had he not heard her walking down the stairs? Every other step creaked and the floorboards at the bottom of the stairs screeched if you so much as breathed on them. He should have heard her coming. That's what he got for daydreaming. 

Bobby’s head jerked up when the chair opposite him scraped against the floor as it was pulled back. Hope dropped down into the chair still smiling at him, her eyes briefly darting towards the gun before snapping down to the plate of food in front of her. Snatching up a slice of bacon she took a large bite. Her eyes widened, in what Bobby could only call wonder, before they slammed closed, her moan of delight sounding loud in the quiet room. Her reaction made Bobby huff out an amused breath, because he knew for damn sure his cooking wasn't that good.

Picking up her fork, she began shovelling food into her mouth, barely finishing what she was eating before shoving another lot in. She ate like she was starved, like she had never experienced this kind of food before. “S' good”. He could only just understand what she was saying around the mouthful of food. Shaking his head Bobby, picked up his own fork and tucked into his breakfast.

They sat in silence, the only noises were the scrape of metal against china and the small moans of satisfaction Hope made as she demolished everything on her plate. It was strange having someone else here, who wasn’t pouring over old texts or cleaning guns. It was stranger still that it was a young woman that sat across from him. It had been so long since he had had female company that he had almost forgotten what it was like to have a woman in his home. Almost.

He could still remember those long forgotten Sunday mornings, when the sun had been shining and the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air, coaxing him from his sleep and pleading for him to come down stairs. When he finally stumbled down the stairs he would always find Karen in the kitchen, humming along to whatever song was playing on the radio as she moved around the small room, practically dancing as she pulled ingredients from cupboards and utensils from drawers, baking everything from bread to cakes to pies on those lazy Sunday mornings.

He would always sneak up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest as he placed gentle kisses along the slope of her neck. And she would always stop what she was doing to turn and smile brightly up at him before kissing him gently on the lips. Oh God, he missed her, missed that life.

“So I take it I passed your little inquisition?” Bobby’s eyes flickered back up to Hope. At some point, during his little walk down memory lane, his eyes had darted over towards the window so he could stare unseeingly out into the yard. Taking a deep breath he tried to refocus on the girl in front of him.

The bright amusement had faded from her eyes leaving them soft and understanding. He couldn’t help the strange feeling he had that she had known about the dangerous path his thoughts had been heading along and she was offering him a way out. A lifeline of sorts, because that was a dangerous road to be going down, and who knew if he would ever come back from it, if he let his mind wander too far. It was almost as if she could read his mind but that wasn’t possible, right?

But Bobby had seen a lot of things in his life that he had once thought impossible. That thing with Sam, and all those other kids alone made mindreading seem more likely than anything else. He made a quick mental note to look into the possibility more, later, once everything was calmer. Hope’s lips quirked slightly, a knowing glint briefly lighting up her eyes before disappearing.

Shoving his curiosity to one side, Bobby placed his cutlery down onto the table. What could he say? Yes you passed but Dean still doesn’t trust you as far as he could throw your bloody corpse? Yeah that would go down well. Almost as well as the revolution had. So for once, he took a leaf out of Dean’s book and went with lying till it seemed like truth.

“Course you did, you idjit”, he grumbled. As soon as the words left his mouth all emotion drained from Hope’s face, her bright eyes becoming cold and hard. This was it, the moment Bobby had been waiting for since the boys had dumped her on his doorstep. She was finally going to get angry, start yelling and throwing around accusations. She was going to call him out for treating her like a suspect, a monster even and all she had done was save those boys' dumb asses and now, she was going to take her anger out on the nearest person. They deserved it. Lord knew they had treated her worse than they should have, especially Dean.

Slowly, she placed her arms on the table giving Bobby a quick glimpse of black ink on tanned skin, something that looked a lot like a sun with a star inside. His eyes were drawn away from the dark, mark and back up to her eyes once more as she leaned forward, hiding the inside of her wrist from him.

She looked so serious, so cold that he could almost feel the sting of her harsh words already. He hadn't been worried about someone's opinion of him for a long time but there was something about this girl that made him hold his breath and hope that she would understand, wouldn't judge him and the Winchesters for the way life had made them. He looked away from her cool gaze.

"Does that mean I can leave?", she asked.

Shocked, Bobby snapped his head up slightly so he was looking Hope dead in the eyes, his own eyes widening in disbelief. He couldn't help it, that hadn't been the question he was expecting and her words had taken him by surprise. Hope raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, and before he could stop himself he was nodding his head slightly, a mumbled 'yeah' falling from his lips.

As soon as the word was past his lips, all hostility vanished from Hope and she was smiling once again. In one quick move, she pushed herself away from the table and up out of her chair. "Finally", she said, satisfaction evident in her voice. She was across the room in a few quick strides, yanking her shirtsleeves down as she went. 

As she made her way past the door, she yanked her jacket down from where it had been slung over the top and hurriedly pulled it on. Bobby hadn't even noticed the jacket until she had lifted it off the door, hadn't even noticed it when she had been leaning against the door just minutes ago. 

This lack of observation was worrying. Didn't it mean he was losing his touch, his skill? He knew what happened to hunters when they got too old and still tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. The job got you one way or another, it always did, and he suffered no delusion that he would be any different. 

With a quick wink, and a wide smile thrown in his direction, Hope spun around the doorframe and disappeared into the hallway. "See ya around, Mr Singer", she called out, sounding far too happy for her own good.

Seconds later, the front door slammed shut and once again he was alone in his home, but, after just a day with the whirlwind of life that was Hope Wesson, the house now seemed empty and quiet, like the spark of life had gone out.

Bobby sat there unmoving, for what felt like ages but, in reality, was only a short few minutes, just staring out through the doorway and into the dark hallway. Desperately he tried to get his perplexed mind around what had just happened. 

He had just let her go, didn't even attempt to stop her or even find out where she was going. He had just sat there, and stared dumbly, as she made her escape as quickly as she could. He didn't blame her. If he had been in the girl's position he would have made a run for it as soon as he had the chance.

No, what he couldn't understand was why she had waited for him to figure out who she was first. She had stayed willingly, never once making an attempt to leave or even convince him to let her go. She had just sat there patiently, letting him get on with pulling her life apart, without so much as a huff of annoyance. He just couldn't understand it, couldn't understand her. 

Slumping back into his chair, Bobby let his eyes slip closed. He felt tired, so very, very tired. Tired of having to spend his every waking moment chasing monsters around the states, of always being suspicious of everyone, just tired of his life. 

Maybe he was getting too old to be doing this constantly. His mind wasn't as sharp anymore, not as quick off the mark as he used to be. It was inevitable really that one day he would have to stop before he got himself killed, or even worse got someone else killed, but he knew he just couldn't give up on the boys like that. 

Half the time they needed him to mediate between the two of them, and really, at their ages, they shouldn't be arguing as much as they did. Though, he supposed it didn't help that they had practically been living in each other's pockets for most of their lives. But their ages didn't change the fact that those boys needed him and that meant he would try to keep on fighting alongside them till the day he died.

Letting his eyes slowly flicker open, Bobby took one look around the small room and sighed. He really couldn't be bothered to tidy up any time soon. He had at least another day before the boys turned up, so it could wait till after he had finally managed to get some sleep.

Slowly, he dragged his heavy body from the chair and out of the room, leaving everything where it was, including his phone and gun. The stairs creaked under his weight as he made his way up to his room, the sound echoing around the open space. As he stepped on a particularly loud one, his mind drifted back to Hope and the mysteries that seemed to surround her, but most of all her need to leave so suddenly. 

It was suspicious to say the least and the way she had just disappeared without an explanation was even stranger. She was a hunter; she knew the importance of someone else knowing where you were and where you were going. 

She had to be going somewhere important, meeting someone, and Bobby would have to try and find out who it was. One way or another he would try to find out her most hidden secrets. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The door slammed shut behind her, the screen squeaking loudly in the early morning silence, as it swung closed. Quickly, Hope jumped down the steps, desperate to get as much space between her and the Singer house as quick as humanly possible. As soon as her feet had hit gravel she was off, walking as fast as she could without flat out running. 

She hadn't known how much longer she would have been able to stay in that house without Bobby finally noticing that something wasn't quite right. Before he could figure out that she was seeing something other than what was going on around her. 

Chancing a glance down at her trembling hands, Hope had to bite down hard on her lips to stop the disgusted sob that was threatening to burst free. Her tanned skin was covered in thick, almost black tendrils. It was as if every vein in her body was being pumped full of liquid fire and causing her veins to swell, pushing against her skin until they stood out like someone had drawn them on with a marker pen. 

She had been though this enough times to know that if she should bother to look in a mirror she would see that same marks all over her skin, slowly burning her alive from the inside. The disease tearing through her body and mind. 

She had known she had been pushing her luck, going after the Winchesters like that, but she was invested in their futures and she couldn't have them dying before she had the chance to get what she needed from them. So she had used up the last of her power reserve to save their sorry asses and they would never know she had even been there. Not that she was bitter about it or anything, just pissed that Dean was still going to look at her like she was the scum of Hell when she had actually saved his life twice already in the short time she had been here. 

Sighing, Hope shoved her hands deep into her pockets, refusing to look at anything that wasn't the road in front of her. Her resolve to ignore her body lasted for all but a minute before her hunger started to claw at her throat once again, worming its way into her mind. 

Gods, she was hungry, starving for it even. She hadn't been like this since she was sixteen and practically salivating for the next kill, already planning it before she had even finished with the one she was on. But then again, she hadn't gone this long without eating since she was in her teens and had been trying to kick the habit. Needless to say it hadn't gone well for her.

Clenching her jaw tightly, and growling softly at her own stupid mind for being stuck on the one thing that was making all this so much more worse than it needed to be, Hope quickened her steps, desperate to get off of Bobby's land and clear of all the anti-demon charms he had set up around his property, as well as getting out of sight of the myriad of security cameras he had set up. The old man was paranoid way beyond what she had been led to believe. 

Desperately trying to distract herself from the all consuming hunger that clawed at the inside of her skull, Hope thought back to the night before and the amount of work it had taken to clear her good name. 

As soon as the Impala had disappeared down the drive, Hope had grabbed her bags and headed straight for the panic room, knowing that was where Dean intended her to spend the majority of her stay. Bobby had followed her down, just watching her lay there. He looked so confused that she had taken mercy on him and made an off-hand remark that intended to annoy him and he had stormed off back up the stairs. Finally, she was alone. 

She had found it hard not to laugh as Bobby slid the heavy lock into place in a vain attempt to keep her locked away, very much like the prisoner she was supposed to be. Locks hadn't been a problem for her since she was thirteen, even ones on the opposite side of the door to her. 

Once she heard Bobby turning on his own ancient computer, Hope was across the room and pulling her own laptop from her bag. It was brand new, still had its protective plastic over it. She had never had one before and had made sure to get the best one she could from the store. The young man behind the counter had been so helpful, setting it up for her and showing her how to use it. She had almost felt bad when he had unknowingly handed it over free of charge and completely untraceable; almost but not quite.

It hadn't taken her long to hack into all the appropriate government and private sites, changing small facts here and there to set up a story that no one, not even the best hunters, would be able to spot as false. After all, just because she had never had her own computer didn't mean she didn't know her way around one.

She had used a real family and their tragic demise as a starting point, only needing to change a few basic details like names and dates, hair colour stuff like that. After that it had gotten more complicated. Trying to figure out who Bobby would call first had been a nightmare, and trying to get there before the call came through had been even worse but she had pulled it off, only cutting it close once or twice.

The altering of people's memories had been the easiest thing she had done so far. Just a simple nudge here and there and they couldn't tell the difference between real and fabricated. It was as simple as pie, child's play. 

She had been told, a long time ago, to only lie when it was absolutely necessary and then to only make it little lies, so you could keep track of what was true and what was make-believe. So she had used little snippets of her own tragic life, making sure not to give away too much but enough that her story would seem convincing. 

By the time she had made it back to Bobby's, she had been exhausted, the hunger just starting to gnaw at the edges of her mind but she had just shoved it aside and made her way upstairs, waiting to see Bobby's reaction to what he had 'found' in the last three hours. 

Sighing, Hope sped up as the gates to the property finally came into view. The world around her was shifting, changing into something that most people would call a nightmare. But she wasn't most people.

The sky was as red as blood, dark black clouds rolling in from the south and flashing with sharp bolts of lightning. The ground beneath her was trembling, huge cracks ripping their way through the dried earth. A scorching heat radiated from the depths of the earth, threatening to melt her skin from her bones. Panicking now, she took off running, a taunting laugh as familiar to her as her own voice ringing through the air. 

She had been through this before, recognised the world around her but she had always had someone with her, to ground her. To pull her back from the brink of madness and remind her of who she was. But he was gone now and she was alone for the first time in years.

She missed him, oh Gods how she missed him. His not-quite smile, his serious blue eyes that never just looked at you but through you, into your very soul, and the matter of fact way he spoke. She guessed what they said was true. You never know what you have until it's long gone and way out of your reach. 

Pulling in a deep breath, Hope tried to push away the thoughts of what was and what could never be. She just needed to eat and then all this would go away and she could get back to what mattered, her true purpose in this life. 

Bursting through the open gates, Hope skidded to a halt. Everything had gone silent, the apocalyptic world that had surrounded her, just moments ago, blinking out of existence. Fields stretched on for miles all around her, the sun now fully above the horizon and shining brightly. A light dew covered the green grass causing it to sparkle in the early morning sun. Birds could be heard chirping away in the trees as a gentle breeze softly swayed the branches. It was the most beautiful thing she had seen in decades. Would probably be the last truly beautiful thing she would ever see. 

Sighing in contempt, Hope let herself relax, a gentle smile tugging at her lips as she began to slowly make her way towards the town. It was moments like these that she could almost forget who she was and where she was from. Could almost forget the unforgivable things she had done and was going to do for years to come. Almost. 

But she was what she was and, for the first time since she had shoved the unconscious Winchesters into the back of their car, she felt free. Free to breathe, to enjoy the world. Free to be herself. She was what she was and Hope wouldn't have it any other way.

Hope laughed gently as she became more and more giddy with every step she took. The sound of feathers ruffling were barely heard as the wind picked up, shaking the leaves and howling at the sky. In a heartbeat she was gone, the road once again void of any sign of life. The soft sound of her gentle laughter fading away into the wind the only proof that she had been there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please review because I would love to know what you think.


	14. Dinner Is Cheap When You’re On The Menu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope has a dark side and no matter how much she tries to suppress it, it just wont go away. it doesn't help that it keeps talking to her though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So here we are guys the next chapter. As always I don’t own anything to do with Supernatural no matter what I with. Thank again to the fabulous Ciar for being my beta. Hope you guys like this and please please review. Thanks for sticking with me guys.
> 
> xox

Blinding, body-shattering pain was the first thing he registered when he finally came back round, closely followed by a gut-wrenching stab of emptiness. Panic flooded through him, pushing the pain to the back of his mind, as he desperately tried to remember what had happened before the world had gone dark.

He had been hanging around outside some dive bar in Texas - where in Texas he didn’t know, it wasn’t that important - waiting for this sweet, little blonde thing to come out. He had been working her for almost a month now, flirting and even playing hero to her damsel in distress. By this stage, she was putty in his hands, practically swooning every time she saw him and that was exactly how he liked them: all trusting and compliant. It just made the pain and suffering so much sweeter when they couldn’t understand why such a nice, caring person would commit such horrors against them.

He had been watching as she slipped out through the side exit, happy and smiling brightly as she parted ways with her work colleges. She had looked innocent, almost childlike, as she waved goodbye; tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, her simple white blouse standing out in stark contrast to her deep blue jacket. He had just been about to make himself known, slip out of the shadows and flash her his most menacing grin, when his skin had started to tingle. The feeling of someone’s gaze boring into the back of his head sent shivers down his spine: _he_ was the one who watched people, it wasn’t the other way around.

He barely had the time to register movement behind him before his skull erupted with blinding pain. His cry of distress was muffled as he collapsed to the ground, his fingers clutching feebly as if they refused to give up on the intense urge to yank and wrench at the blonde hair of this evening’s chosen playmate. Heedless of his urges, darkness consumed him quickly as the pain in his head spiked and his voice gave out on him.

The pain had been excruciating and like nothing he had known before. He had thought he was being ripped from the body he had claimed as his own, the way his very essence had quaked with fear, but it seemed he had been wrong. Now it was just him here, minus the pathetic thing humans called a soul that had inhabited this meat-sack before he moved in. It was strange being alone now, after so many years of having to share this shell with another slotted in beside him. He had grown used to the background noise of the original owner’s constant screams and sobs as he begged to be set free; it had been pathetic really. But now it was quiet, so very quiet.

‘Feeling lonely?’

At the sound of the gentle, playful voice he snapped his head up, eyes opening for the first time since he had awoken. He didn’t know what he had been expecting but to find himself in almost total darkness was not it. From what he could make out, the room was large enough, the edges shrouded in shadows that obscured the speaker from his searching eyes. The floor was concrete, that much he could tell, and the walls were probably brick. He couldn’t imagine his captor taking him anywhere that would allow people to find them, let alone hear him scream. The air in the room smelled like blood and dust, an odd combination but, then again, most of the places he went reeked like death and blood. Proof that he was a classy guy and knew how to show a dame a good time, well…a good enough time until he got bored with her anyway.

Deciding that he wasn’t in the mood for these sorts of games, he went to stand up, his aborted movements causing him to realize that he was bound to the chair. He pulled against his restraints as he glared at the thick rope that had been wound around his exposed wrists and ankles, lashing him in place. The rope had been pulled tight, the coarse weave of the bindings digging painfully into his skin. The flesh of his wrists and ankles was covered in blood, the skin burned black and already beginning to scab over. Haw long had he been out? He knew of only one thing that could burn him in that way: Holy Water.

Groaning, he let his head fall back. The light overhead made his vision spotty and blurred for a second before it cleared. The sole source of light in the room, the naked bulb hanging above him, illuminated only the small area around him and cast the rest of the room in shadows. But it was what surrounded the swinging light that had him letting out a huff of annoyance and slumping down into the chair as much as he could. A devil’s trap was painted on the ceiling above him, the thick red lines standing out in sharp contrast against the dirty and crumbling plaster. Squinting at the still slightly glistening paint, he let out a small chuckle as realisation dawned on him. He knew where the smell of blood was coming from now.

‘Forgive the crudeness,’ the unseen speaker continued. ‘Didn’t quite have time to pop down to the store, so had to make do with what I had.’

Letting his head roll forward, he glared at the patch of darkness from where he thought the smug, self-satisfied voice had come. Damned hunters were almost as bad as demons with their flair for the dramatics. Always wanting to put on a show, to prove how much better they were than demons, when the delicious reality was that in ten or twenty years, when they had been sent to the deepest, darkest depths of Hell - where all ‘good’ hunters went to suffer through eternity - and their hearts had been ripped out, they would end up exactly where he was now. Getting their ass handed to them by some smug, idiotic hunter that didn’t quite understand that every road to Hell was paved with the broken and tainted souls of once proud and righteous men.

‘And here I thought it was paved with good intentions. Must’ve heard wrong,’ the voice drawled.

He jerked his head up, as that amused voice filled the air around him once more, his eyes wide and full of panic. The speaker had read his mind. That wasn’t possible, not even an option in the game show of life.

‘Oh, but it is.’ That sweet, playful voice echoed around the room, seeming to come from every possible angle to surround him, completely inescapable. 

Full-on panicking now, he yanked at his restraints in a desperate attempt to get free. The rope dug deeper into his already abused and broken skin, the rough material rubbing against his raw and bloody wrists as he continued to thrash around in his chair in a futile effort to escape. Futile because it didn’t matter if he got free from the rope, he would still be stuck in the devils trap, unable to flee and unable to truly defend himself.

‘STOP!’

As soon as the word filled the air, he froze, unable to even twitch his fingers let alone move any of his limbs, in spite of how much he willed them to. Growling low and menacingly, he yelled out into the darkened room, his anger and panic clearly showing as his voice wavered slightly, ‘Show yourself!’

Suddenly, the world around him went silent. He could no longer hear the wind outside, as it swirled around the building, nor his own laboured breaths. It was as silent as Death himself, sending shivers down his spine and leaving him feeling sick to his very core. Normally, he was all for games and very much in favour of screwing around with your prey, until they didn’t know which way was up and which way was down, but this? No, he had already had enough of this particular game. He was going to rip that bitch’s throat out the moment he could get his hands on her. He would make her beg for mercy.

‘Try it.’

His body jerked as the harsh-sounding words were whispered against his ear, her hot breath ruffled his hair, and his body went rigid, his eyes going impossibly wide. Quickly, he snapped his head to the side as he tried to look behind him, desperate to get a glimpse of his captor, but all that greeted him was gentle laughter and empty shadows.

‘How does it feel?’ she asked.

Snapping his head back round, he got his first look at his captor, finally catching sight of a face to go along with that stupidly smug voice. She was sitting in a simple, high-backed, wooden chair. Her body language utterly casual as she stared at him: she had one elbow resting against the chair’s arm, her hand curled against her cheek, thumb resting under her chin and her pointer finger pressed against the side of her face with the fingertip just resting against the corner of her eye.

She looked young, still in her twenties he would guess. Her long, dark hair, which was curled slightly at the ends, flowed down over her shoulders. What he could see of her skin looked tanned, like she had spent her life outside in the sun. Maybe she was from California, although the fact that she was wearing plaid didn’t seem to fit with that theory. The sleeves of her plaid shirt were rolled up to her elbows, exposing soft skin and slender-looking wrists. He could imagine them wound tight with rope and hoisted above her head. Or maybe handcuffs would be better. She would look so delectable with the shimmering, silver metal digging deep into her sun-kissed skin, maybe even splattered with blood, the droplets sparkling like rubies.

She was annoyingly pretty, just his type actually, and he wanted to do the most wicked things to her. He wanted to spread her out and cut her open, listen to her scream as he ripped out her insides and set fire to her bleeding carcass.

He noticed the anti-possession tattoo on her left wrist, the black ink standing out against her skin as though the mark was fresh, the ink looked as dark as his soul. As soon as he saw the tattoo, she shifted in the chair, her posture becoming more rigid as her arm lowered to rest her hand flat against the arm of the chair. She began to draw idle patterns against the wood with her fingertips.

Taking a deep breath he licked at his suddenly dry lips. He could feel uneasiness beginning to surface inside him, lapping at the edges of his consciousness. He hadn’t felt any form of nervousness since the day he made his deal with the crossroads demon and that had been well over a century ago.

‘How does what feel, exactly?’ he responded, his parched throat making his voice sound low and rough. Tilting his head down, he looked at the young woman through his eyelashes. He had been told many times before, admittedly it had been mostly by the women he ended up killing, that this body had beautiful eyes. Women had called his eyes crystal clear and innocent, mesmerising even. Stupid, dumb bitches didn’t have a clue. He tried to keep the tone of his voice sounding bored and unimpressed, sarcastic even, with a hint of charm thrown in for good measure, but from the way her lips quirked at the edges he knew she had heard his worry bleed through.

‘Being toyed with,’ she replied. Her voice was calm, gentle even, as she looked at him expectantly. Her green-eyed gaze fixed on him like she could bore a hole right through him with it.

For the first time in many a decade, he felt trapped. He couldn’t move any of this body from the neck down, couldn’t even twitch his fingers. No one knew where he was, not that he made a habit of letting anyone keep tabs on his whereabouts, and, on top of all that, he was developing a sinking feeling that he wasn’t going to be getting out of this situation alive. Well, if you could actually call being a demon living.

‘Whatever gets you off sweetheart,’ he drawled, winking at her as he flashed her his biggest grin.

Her mouth twitched slightly, a small smile lighting up her features. ‘That’s funny,’ she smirked. She was full-on smiling now, taunting him, and he couldn’t have that, wouldn’t stand for it from any human meat-puppet but particularly not from a woman.

‘Why don’t you get that tight, little ass of yours over here and I’ll show what being toyed with _really_  feels like,’ he purred. The low, seductive tone of his voice sounded attractively convincing to his well-practised ear, but she didn’t even seem to notice. Didn’t even acknowledge that he had spoken.

Darting his gaze around the shadowed space, he looked desperately for any sign of an exit or for something that he could use to help him escape. Anything that would let him get away from this hunter-woman before she had a chance to send him back down to the Pit. He may have been a demon, and he may have been born in the Pit, but that did not mean he ever wanted to go back there.

A slight movement in the corner of his eye pulled his gaze back to his captor, just in time to see her sinking back into the chair and getting comfortable. She looked so relaxed, so at ease, like this scenario was completely normal for her.

His own neglected thoughts slammed back to the forefront of his mind. What if this actually _was_  normal for her? He had never heard of a hunter that could read minds, hadn’t even heard a whisper about one that liked to play mind-games before she got down to the exorcism. Not in the last decade anyway and this woman was far too young to have been knocking around that long. It didn’t mean it wasn’t possible though; didn’t mean that his kind hadn’t stumbled across her before. But, if they had, surely some demon would have marked her on the list of souls to be broken, to be ripped apart, and desecrated.

‘David, right?’ she asked, knowingly, smug smile and all. ‘Well…that’s what that meat-suit of yours is called but he’s long gone by now, so why don’t you tell me your name, hmm? Your _true_  name, that is, if you can even remember it.’

The request threw him. It had been so long since he had even _thought_  of his human name, let alone used it or been called by it, that he realised it had been an effort for him to remember it.

Her green eyes narrowed, that smug smile growing even wider than before. She knew she had hit a nerve.

Growling menacingly, he barked out the first thing that came to mind, anger lacing every word that fell from his lips, ‘Go to Hell!’ How dare she speak to him in such a way, treat him with so little respect. He was going to get free and he would take so much pleasure in ripping her apart, slowly, limb by limb. He would make her scream and beg until she was nothing but an unrecognisable pile of flesh and bone on the floor.

‘Been there. Done that. Got that fractured psyche to prove it,’ she responded, calmly. ‘Now, your name, _please_.’ The last word was said with a commanding force that sunk deep into his mind and wrapped its claws around that almost-forgotten word, gripping it tightly and refusing to let go.

He gritted his jaw tight, his teeth grating against each other as he tried to fight against the urge to speak but it was like the word was being dragged out of him, balancing on the tip of his tongue until it started to hurt.

‘WILLIAM…’ he screamed at the woman in front of him. As soon as the word had left his mouth, the burning pressure that had been throbbing against the inside of his temples vanished, like it had never even been there. Slumping back into the chair, he let his head loll backwards, his eyes slipping closed. His body ached from where he had been straining against his bonds; the rope had cut deeper into his already bloody skin.

‘Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ she asked, condescendingly.

Opening his eyes - he didn’t even remember consciously when he had closed them - he glared at her with every ounce of rage he could muster. Oh Lucifer, he was going to ruin her, watch her choke on her own blood as he pulled out her heart. Once he was finished with her they wouldn’t even be able to identify her with dental records.

Paying him no attention, she turned to her head to the side, something unseen to him catching her attention. Her smile slipped as she glared at the shadows. The slip only lasted a second before her head was snapping back round, devilish smirk in place, her eyes darkening as they fogund him once more. Something seemed different about her now, darker. He had felt the shift, her humanity not so prominent any more as something more sinister started to swallow it, like a shadow chasing away the light.

‘William, can I call you Will?’

Glaring at her, and her irritatingly cheerful voice, William tried to remind himself that the worst thing she could do was send him back to the Pit. He had gotten out once, what was there to say he couldn’t do it again? And, as far as anyone knew, the Winchesters were the only hunters that could actually kill a demon and that was only because they had that damn knife of theirs. However, he happened to know that the Winchesters were on the other side of the country right now, so he didn’t have that to worry about.

‘Yeah, sure, why not,’ he drawled, sarcastically.

Impossibly, she smiled even wider, flashing him her pearly, white teeth. Her face looked like it might almost split in half from the smile and it had to be hurting her by now, maintaining that ridiculous expression. He wanted to smack it from her lips, preferably with the back of his hand. Her eyes were darker now; so dark they seemed almost black.

‘So what’s your name, sugar?’ he asked. ‘Need to know what to put on your tombstone.’ He would carve it on the stone personally and make sure the world knew who had killed the crazy bitch.

She completely ignored his question, which had, admittedly, been more of a dig to try and get her to do something other than smile at him like she was a few fruit loops short of a bowl. Instead, she turned to once again look off into the shadows on her left, seemingly deep in thought.

Gritting his teeth, William growled loudly, the sound reverberating around the room, but the woman still paid him no mind. Obviously, the voices in her head were far more interesting than him, and that shouldn’t piss him off as much as it did because every minute she spent off in her own mental la-la land was another minute he wasn’t back in the Pit.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered as much will as he could and tried, once again, to tug his restraints loose but it was like his body had turned to stone. None of his limbs responded to his commands, his fingers remained frozen and curled around the arms of the chair. Mentally, he screamed at them to move, to twitch, to do something, but it was no use. The most he could do was turn his head and blink, say a few words, and hope she got this over with soon because he was really starting to get tired of this situation. There was only so long a guy could put up with the crazy hunter routine (something he had seen a hundred times already, since he’d clawed his way back up topside), before he wanted to stab himself in the eye with the nearest sharp object because, surely, gouging out an eye would be more entertaining than this shit.

The woman’s head snapped back round, her dark eyes narrowing as she glared at him with a disdainful expression not all that different from the King of Hell’s, though He was a lot more terrifying than the young woman in front of William, no matter what freaky tricks she had up her sleeves.

He felt her annoyance slam into him like a truck going 100mph down a wet road with no brakes to speak of. He could feel it curling around him until his skin started to itch. It pushed in on him, crushing him until he wanted to scream out into the night, but he wouldn’t let himself. He couldn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing him in such pain.

As suddenly as the pain had started, it stopped, disappearing as he pulled in a deep breath, the cool air stinging his throat as he gulped it down. With a soft sigh, the young woman’s features softened, until she was smiling sweetly at him, looking very much like the innocent little girl she wasn’t. 

In a rather over-dramatic gesture, she smacked her hands down against the arms of her chair, the loud sound of skin slapping against wood filling the room. Putting all her weight on her hands, she pushed herself to her feet in one fluid move, the heels of her boots clicking against the concrete as they hit the floor. He couldn’t help but watch her, almost entranced as she pushed a hand through her hair, shoving the long strands away from her face. For a split second her eyes slipped closed, her head tilted up slightly, an easy smile on her pale lips.

She looked so young, so delicate and all he wanted was to mess that all up, ruin her in the best ways and then the worst. He wanted to reduce her to a moaning, gasping, squirming, naked mess, begging for more. And then he wanted to peel off her skin and gouge out her eyes with a sharpened spoon. She would scream so pretty.

‘Normally, I would take my time with things like this,’ she said, her calm and playful voice pulling him away from his intoxicating thoughts and back to his captor. She was smiling brightly at him, her face still turned towards the ceiling but her eyes were open now, trained on him.

A shiver of anticipation rolled down his spine, setting his nerves on fire as he waited for what would come next.

Letting her head fall forward she turned to look directly at him, her eyes piercing through his meat-suit and deep into his twisted core, seeing everything he had ever done. He did not like it, being laid bare in this way.

Slowly, she made her way towards him, her heels clicking softly on the concrete floor with every step she took. Her voice was a strange mix of excitement and disappointment. ‘I could make it last for hours, days even,’ she purred. ‘It would be such sweet torture and I could make you feel _so_  good, make all those little fantasies of yours come to life.’

Her eyes were bright, alight with excitement. It was like she was glowing - as though she could fill the room with a light that wanted to reach out to every dark corner - but couldn’t penetrate the thick shadows that pushed in from the edges of the room, snapping and swirling around the light, crowding it back to where it had come from. With a soft sigh she came to a halt, teetering on the edge of the devils trap, her eyes darting up to the painted symbols and then back towards him, as she rocked on the balls of her feet slightly.

Everything snapped back to how it was before, as she let out a huff of annoyance. She wasn’t glowing any more, and the shadows were no longer moving. Now that he wasn’t so entranced by her, he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. Humans didn’t glow and the only shadows that moved on their own were demons. He couldn’t sense anything other than the two of them in the room. But, then again, she wasn’t quite human. There was something else there, something tainting her and making it hard to get a good read of her. He had a horrible feeling he wasn’t going to be around long enough to find out what she really was.

‘But there just isn’t time,’ she mumbled down at the floor, her voice only just audible.

Tilting her head back, she looked up at the symbol painted on the ceiling. She stared at it for a long few minutes and he stared at her until he grew frustrated. He was just about to snap at her to get the hell on with whatever she had planned, when she started to speak, her voice soft and distant as she said, ‘I don’t like doing this, you know. It’s not what I pictured when I fantasised about my future.’

Rolling his eyes at the sob story he was undoubtedly about to hear, William lolled his head to the side. Hunters were all the same, always trying to blame someone else for their misfortune. They should all just stop whining and go get drunk, have nasty, kinky sex with someone half their age and then get in a fist-fight, maybe even kill someone. He could guarantee they would feel ten times better afterwards.

Turning her gaze back to him, she smiled brightly, her voice once again back to that annoying, upbeat tone. ‘But hey, destiny’s a bitch right?’ She winked at him, wiggling her eyebrow suggestively at him.

He couldn’t help but laugh at her. ‘Are you bipolar?’ he scoffed. She had to be, or else she had a split personality or something like that, because something clearly wasn’t right with this girl.

Laughing gently at his words, she shook her head, shorter strands of her dark hair falling across her eyes once again. Sighing, she glared at her hair and brought her hand up to shove the wayward strands out of her face. As her hand moved, something caught the light, shimmering slightly. It wasn’t until her hand fell back to her side that he even noticed the knife she had clasped in her hand. The metal was shining softly in the dim light, the knife’s blade clearly having been polished recently. He wondered if maybe that was what she had been doing whilst she waited for him to come to, but the thought quickly vanished when he finally got a good look at the knife.

The top of the blade was straight before it curved downwards towards the tip. The bottom was a jagged row of razor sharp teeth that straightened out at the tip, but it was the words scrawled across the middle of the blade that had his eyes widening, as panic truly started to set in.

It wasn’t possible, not even probable. Those dim-wit Winchesters were supposed to be the only ones with a weapon like that and, by all accounts, they guarded their demon-killing blade fiercely. He couldn’t imagine that they would give something that powerful to someone else. According to everything he knew, it just wasn’t possible for another one to exist, but he could see it as clear as day. He knew his fate now.

‘This is going to hurt,’ she stated, bluntly.

His wide, panic-filled eyes snapped back up to hers as she spoke, her words breaking whatever trance he had been in. She was looking at him directly again but her eyes were nothing more than black pools of nothingness now. Now that he was confronted with it, he could feel the demon inside of her like a physical blow to the stomach. But that still wasn’t quite right. There was something else there, something more. She wasn’t a demon, well not completely anyway, there was something more crowding around the small slither of humanity that he could feel rolling around inside of her, but he couldn’t tell what.

Taking a step forward she flexed the knife in her hand, pulling his attention back to the _thing_ that could kill him.

‘You’re going to kill me.’ It wasn’t a question. Tilting his head back, he looked up at the young woman in front of him. If he had thought it was possible, he would have said she looked almost sad.

‘Yes.’ The whispered word sounded loud in the silence, cutting through the quietness like a hot knife through butter.

He had expected to feel panic, anger, hate, maybe even a little excitement as he struggled to get free, but all he truly felt was mind-numbing acceptance. This was going to happen, no matter what he said or did. He was trapped, unable to move, unable to defend himself. He was going to die. After decades of paying the price for a childish wish, he was finally going to be free. Free of this life, free of hell, free of his contract.

‘Who are you?’ he asked, his voice just as soft as hers had been. He wanted to know the name of the person who was going to execute him, before it was too late.

Frowning down at him, she inched closer until her legs were pushing against his. In one quick move she swung a leg over his and, slowly, sank down onto his lap. Eyes wide he watched as she moved the knife to her right hand, and, once her left hand was free, she brought her palm up to rest against his cheek in a tender gesture, her thumb rubbing gentle circles against the soft skin.

He wanted to jerk away, wanted to scream for her to get off him but he found himself unable to do anything but stair into her eyes, trapped in the dark pools.

‘It’s not _who_  I am that you should be worrying about,’ she whispered, softly.

Slowly, she slipped her hand back, running her fingers into his hair, her palm resting against the top of his cheek. Shifting slightly in his lap, she brought her other hand up until the jagged edge of the blade was resting against his jugular. The metal was cold as it dug into his skin. He could feel a small drop of blood sliding down his throat and disappearing into the collar of his shirt. His mind flashed with a brief thought of ‘well that’s not going to come out’ before everything, but this moment and what it was leading up to, vanished from his mind.

He was breathing deeply, his eyes slamming closed in a vain attempt to hide from those bottomless pits she called eyes. This was it, he was about to die and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

‘Now _what_  I am, well…that’s a whole different matter,’ she whispered, seductively, her voice cutting through the silence.

Before he could even react, the blade was yanked across his throat, the skin splitting open and his blood gurgling over the edge of the wound. His mouth fell open as a silent scream of pure agony was ripped from him, as a hungry mouth closed around the wound and sucked deeply, pulling more of his blood from his protesting body. He heard a faint clattering, it could have been the blade falling to the floor but it was hard to be sure over the sound of his own pained sobs.

It hurt, _oh fuck,_ it hurt. Blunt teeth dug into torn skin, a probing tongue worked its way deep into the wound and forced it open, ripping the skin and making the flow of blood greater. The woman moaned in pleasure, sucking harder as she pushed her body tight against his, her fingers curling until she had a fist full of his hair. She yanked his head to the side; opening the wound up more and giving herself more room suck desperately at his flesh.

He felt weak, like she was sucking the energy right out of him, and she probably was. He didn’t know how much more he could take, or even if he would survive much longer. All he knew was that it hurt and he would rather be dead right now than living through this. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull, the world around him going foggy. No, he didn’t suppose he had long at all.

She growled against his blood-covered skin, shoving her face harder against his neck, desperate to get every last drop from him. He couldn’t have that much more left to give her, his pulse was becoming slow and almost unnoticeable.

As he finally began to slip into darkness, a bright pain shot through his skull. Burning, his head was burning. He could smell it, the unmistakable stench of skin and fat being heated beyond the norm, almost like bacon. He could feel the intense heat against his temple and then suddenly it wasn’t just his head. It was inside of him, twisting around the blackened remains of his soul, burning him up from the inside. Screaming out, his eyes shot open, frantically rolling around in their sockets as his own screams echoed around his skull. It was like no pain he had ever known, like no pain he had ever heard of, and it was only getting worse.

A bright, white light erupted behind his eyes, blinding him as the burning pain spiked. The now empty meat-suit, that he had called a body, slumped down as the soulless shell took its last ragged breath before its heart stopped.

With a loud gasp, Hope yanked her mouth away from the dead body’s neck, throwing her head back to gaze unseeingly at the ceiling. Pulling in deep, gasping breaths, she tried to slow her frantically beating heart as it thumped loudly against her ribs, her blood rushing past her ears.

With a loud groan, she slumped forward, her head landing on the corpse’s shoulder. Oh gods, she felt alive, she could feel the power thrumming through her veins, tingling in her fingers and curling around her mind. She felt like she could reach up and pull the stars from the sky or reach down and touch the molten core of the earth. She felt invincible. Finally, her breathing returned to normal and she let out a soft sigh. Turning her head, she nuzzled against William’s neck, her tongue darting out to lap at the slowly drying blood that was seeping from the jagged wound.

Once the skin was clean, she pulled her head away, swiping her tongue across her blood-covered lips as she sat back up. She savoured the taste, rolling it round on her tongue like it was a fine wine, not that she had ever had wine; no one had access to that sort of thing in her time. The blood was tangy and left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. It tasted like all the sins of the world along with the desire to always commit them. It was disgusting and addictive all at the same time. It had once made her sick to her very core, but not now. She had spent far too many years being force-fed the stuff to have negative reactions to it any more.

Slowly, she uncurled her fingers from where they had been clutching tightly at the body beneath her. Her nails had ripped through the fabric of the man’s white shirt, digging deep into the soft flesh of his arm. They came free with a soft squelch as blood started to ooze slowly from the five crescent-moon cuts she had left behind. Her left hand came away easily from his hair, a few strands of blond hair falling to the ground as she moved her hands to rest on his slumped shoulders.

Gently, she used the fingertips of her left hand to turn his head, giving herself a better look at the fresh scar she had left on the side of his temple. The bottom of her palm was as clear as day on the side of his face, her fingers disappearing into his hairline. She could make out every swirl, every line, even the small gap where her ring was. She had no doubt that the police of this time would be able to get a print from it but it would do them no good. She was in no database, no records held her name. She hadn’t even been born yet.

Her thumbprint was burned across the top of his forehead, just brushing against his hairline, and she knew that if she even bothered to move his hair she would be able to see a mass of scared and mangled flesh from where her curled fingers had dug into his scalp and burned their mark into the skin. Sighing, Hope let her hands drop from his chin, both her hands sliding down to press gently against his chest. She didn’t know why she left the mark behind, didn’t even know how she did it, it had just always happened. Ever since she had taken her first hesitant gulp of body-warm blood. Leaving the mark seemed to be an automatic reaction to the lack of blood in whatever body she was draining. Subconsciously, she knew she had to kill whatever scum inhabited the body, leaving an empty shell behind, the soulless monstrosity only lasting a breath before it died too.

With a disgusted grunt, Hope pushed herself off of the dead man’s lap and staggered to her feet, determinedly not looking at the bloody handprint she had left behind on his white shirt. She didn’t need to see any more evidence that she was a monster. With a well-practiced, flamboyant gesture she flung her right arm up into the air, hand high above her head, and clicked her fingers as she walked away from the still warm body and back towards the chair she had vacated only a few minutes ago.

Lights snapped on all at once, bathing the warehouse in a hazy light. Letting her hand fall, she caught a glimpse of her blood-smeared skin and her stomach dropped, the realization of what she had just done sinking in.

With a strangled cry, Hope ran across what was left of the room, and headed straight towards the small, black door hidden away in the corner. Shoving it open with her shoulder, she flung herself at the grubby-looking sink, the faucet handles turning of their own accord and dirty water gushing from them with a rusty-sounding groan. Hope shoved her hands under the cold spray, frantically scrubbing at her blood covered skin, and scraping her nails over her skin as she desperately tried to get the demon’s blood off.

No matter how frantically she scrubbed, she could still feel the blood, hot and sticky against her skin, the metallic tang filling the air and forcing its way down her throat. Oh gods, she felt sick. A loud, gargled groan filled the small room, the taps spluttering slightly as the muddy water turned a deep red, the cold liquid warming slightly as it hit her hands. With a startled gasp, Hope flung herself backwards, slamming into the doorframe with a loud thud. Blood ran thick and fast from the tap, splattering across the dull white porcelain. She could feel it dripping from her fingers, could hear the drops splashing against the floor, but, despite the growing horror that was welling up inside of her, she couldn’t tare her eyes away, watching as it swirled down the drain.

Her heart thundered in her chest, beating so fast that she felt like it would give out at any moment and she would end up crumbling to the floor in a lifeless heap. It seemed fitting that fear would be the cause of her death; nothing else had managed to kill her yet.

This shouldn’t be happening, couldn’t be happening. She had fed; the hallucinations should have stopped the moment she took her first gulp of blood, so why the hell was she seeing this? Logically, she knew it was a hallucination, blood didn’t run in the plumbing, even in her time. Knowing this didn’t stop her from wanting to throw up though. Oh gods, why was this happening to her?

‘Funny you should say that.’

All panic disappeared from Hope as soon as that familiar calm voice filled the air. Glaring at the sink, Hope shoved herself away from the wall, wiping her hands on her jeans as she took a step back towards the sink, glancing over her shoulder slightly. Of course it would be _him_ ; it was _always_ fucking him.

‘Go away,’ she snapped at the man leaning casually against the doorframe. Hope quickly twisted the faucet handles and the flow of blood-red water stopped with a loud groan. Spinning on her heels, Hope barged past the older man. He stepped back, moving out of her way, smirking at her as she quickly slipped past. Glaring at the floor, she stormed across the room, heading straight for the body that was lying slumped in the chair, its head lolling to one side.

‘That wasn’t very nice,’ the new arrival called out to her in a sickeningly, cheerful, sing-song voice. His words echoing around the room made it impossible to tell if he was still standing where she had left him.

Without stopping to mentally prepare herself for the pain that was about to come, Hope pushed through the invisible barrier that flowed down from the devil’s trap. Her skin burned, feeling like she was being stabbed all over by thousands of pins, each one laced with acid. She hated devil’s traps. Standing inside one always sent a sharp stab of pain through her core, like a blade of ice being thrust into her soul and twisted. But, unfortunately, they were a necessary part of her line of work and she had been round them enough by now that she was good at hiding the discomfort she felt. No one would ever know how much the traps affected her and that was how she would like it to stay.

Sinking down onto her knees next to David’s lifeless body, Hope shoved her hand into the pocket of his pants, looking for anything that could be considered useful in this time.

‘Well, neither are you. So, hey, guess we’re even,’ she growled, in response to the newcomer’s taunting. She didn’t even bother to look up at him as she spoke, fervently willing him to just go away already.

Hope felt a small measure of triumph as she yanked out the dead man’s wallet, the cracked and faded leather rectangle getting caught on the edge of his pocket before it slipped free. The leather was soft in her hands, worn down from years of rubbing against the cotton lining of his pocket. Flipping it open, Hope was confronted with a small plastic card that bore the man’s photo and some of his basic information. She had seen these a thousand times before; she even had a small collection of the things. No, she had _had_ a small collection but they had been left behind, not important enough to bring with her.

Looking down at his date of birth, Hope wished she had just left the damn thing in his pocket. David Summers had been 19 years old. He had been so young, his whole life still ahead of him and it had all been taken away as soon as a demon had forced its way down his throat. He hadn’t stood a chance, poor guy.

‘They have those here, you know,’ the newcomer drawled, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Maybe you should consider getting one.’

Hope glared down at the photo of the pre-demon-possession David Summers and tried to ignore the man behind her as best she could. Thumbing the back of the wallet open, Hope pulled out the small wad of notes William had been carrying, going up on her knees to shove them into her back pocket.

‘Stealing from a dead man; classy,’ the irritant declared, sarcastically.

With a low growl, Hope snapped round, throwing the dead man’s wallet at him, with considerable force, but it sailed right past him and hit the wall behind him with a dull thud. He hadn’t even flinched, just stood there, calmly watching it come towards him. With a smirk she could only call sleazy, he pushed off the wall and started to walk towards her.

‘Ugh’, the disgusted noise Hope made sounded loud in the room and did nothing to deter him.

Turning back to the body, Hope shoved her hand into its other pocket, her fingers instantly closing around a cool, hard, plastic rectangle. Tugging it free, she stared down at the small device in her hand, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing along the side, the seam of the plastic digging into her skin slightly. She remembered these, had seen them scattered, broken and forgotten, amongst the debris of fallen buildings and burned-out cars. She knew that they were mobile phones, knew that people had used them to make calls and to talk to one another when they couldn’t speak in person, she knew that much about them.

She hadn’t seen a working one in well over a decade though. People didn’t make calls that way in her time. To speak to someone who wasn’t nearby, all you needed was a fresh pint of blood, and a bowl, and you were good to go. Simple really, and guaranteed to work every time.

‘You should probably get one of those as well, while you’re at it,’ the annoying voice behind her suggested.

Hope sighed, slumping slightly, and turned her head so she could glare over her shoulder at the speaker. He had moved from his spot against the wall and was now lounging in the chair she had been sitting in a good few minutes ago. It worried her that he was sitting in pretty much the same position she had. He was leaning back casually, one elbow resting against the arm of the chair, his hand curled against his cheek with the thumb resting under his chin and his pointer finger pressed against the side of his face, the fingertip resting against the corner of his eye. He looked so damned smug, and far too comfortable, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and lips curled up into a smirk, taunting her.

Quickly, her eyes roamed over his body, taking in the pale skin stretched over firm muscles and the powerful thighs spread wide. A slight shadow of stubble covered his chin and his short, dirty-blond hair just screamed out to have her hands shoved into it and pulling at it.

Slamming down on her traitorous thought, Hope quickly flung her head back round, facing away from him. The phone clattered to the floor as she brought her hands up to cover her face. That whole train of thought was dirty and wrong, sickening even. It didn’t matter what she had done in her past, she was _not_ going down that path ever again: even if it was just in her mind.

Letting her hands drop to the dead man’s knees, she pushed herself up off the floor, tilting her head back to glare at the symbol above her. She should really get rid of it. All it would take was a simple snap of her fingers and it would be like it was never there. But, then again, she should also move the body, and try to make the dead man’s passing seem a little more peaceful than it had been. It would be the right thing to do; it wasn’t the young man’s fault that a demon had chosen him to be a puppet. Demons forcibly take whatever they want, with no regard for the lives of those they choose. The young man, David, deserved to be put to rest properly; to be at peace. She had done it for the others, so why stop now?

‘Because he was a useless, pathetic parasite and he deserved everything he got,’ her companion’s venomous voice filled the air, his words cutting into her thoughts like poisoned talons.

Something flickered through her mind, something dark and twisted that demanded her attention like a gun to the head. Humanity: pathetic, weak, mindless parasites that clung onto anyone or anything that thought themselves better than the herd. Dependent on Kings and Queens, gods and goddesses, never standing up for themselves, never taking responsibility’s for their actions, just cowering at the feet of those who stood fearless and proud. It was still the same in her time, they were still snivelling cowards; a disease on the planet that they had squandered and left in ruins.

The sharp sting on her palms pulled Hope from her dark thoughts, as she glanced down at her hands. She had clenched them into tight fists, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms. Oh gods, what was she _thinking_?

She didn’t truly believe that, not for a second. Humanity was a beautiful, fragile thing that was full of potential. They were worth saving. If she didn’t believe that then she wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have risked life and limb to get back to this place, to this time when the world had still been whole. This time when humanity still covered the world like a blanket of bright lights, each little sparkling dot a soul shining brightly.

‘Ugh, here we go,’ her companion snarked.

Turning her head round, Hope glared at the older man still lounging in the chair, a bored look on his face as he inspected his blunt nails. Without thinking, she stormed across the space between them, her footsteps echoing loudly. Slamming her hands down on the arms of the chair, Hope leaned in, breathing deeply as he flicked his dull, blue eyes up to hers, the anger clear in her voice as she forced out her words between gritted teeth, ‘Shut. Up.’

She stood staring at him, trying to calm her growing emotions before she blew every bulb in the building. She had done it many a time when she had been younger, had even taken out a few windows, and, on one memorable occasion, every piece of glass in a two-block radius. That had been a particularly bad night.

He was watching her patiently, a small smirk quirking his lips. As she watched him, his smile widened, his eyes burning with triumph. Realisation sliced through Hope’s anger like an angel blade carving through an angel’s grace. Groaning, Hope let her head fall. She had given him exactly what he wanted. He had been looking for a reaction, sticking his knife in and twisting until she could no longer ignore him. He wanted her full attention and would stop at nothing until he had it.

Stupid. She was so stupid for not realising what he had been doing, beforehand. Now he would never shut up. Sighing, Hope pushed herself away from the chair, and its annoying inhabitant, her hands falling to her sides as she took a step backwards, the sound of his mocking laughter ringing in her ears. Turning away from his wide smile, her eyes once again found the limp body of the man she had killed. Another one to add to the long list of souls she had sent on their way long before their time. She was a monster. Even though she tried, she really did. She always sent the human’s soul on its way before she got her hands on the thing that had slipped inside the person’s body alongside them. But that didn’t change the fact that she still killed them.

She killed people to survive. Killed them for power and for the strength she needed to carry out the role that life had given her. She was no better than the things she hunted: a monster.

‘You’re nothing like them. You are so much…better,’ he purred, his voice sending shivers down her spine that would have left her shaking if she wasn’t already so cold; as cold as the devil himself.

Ignoring her tormentor as best as she could, Hope clicked her fingers and the blood on the man’s clothes and skin disappeared as the wound on his neck healed shut, becoming nothing more than a faded scar. She could still see her palm print on his temple, she hadn’t quite figured out how to get rid of those yet but she would, eventually. All she had was time, well, six years to be exact; surely that would be long enough.

Hope made her way back over to the small bathroom without looking at the scowling man in the chair. Keeping one hand on the outside wall, she leaned round the doorframe to pull her jacket off the hook just inside the door. As she pulled back, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that hung above the sink. She had been told once, long ago when she had been young and still enchanted with this time, that the eyes were the windows to the soul. If that was true, then there really was no hope for her. Staring at her own eyes, she was greeted with deep, dark pools of nothingness. Oh gods, she truly was a monster. She should be the thing being hunted.

She had done such terrible things, both in her own time and now. She was stained with the blood of thousands, was responsible for so much death and destruction. She had even committed genocide. By now, her soul was probably a rotten, black mess, tainted and twisted beyond recognition. She had done it all to herself and for what? Was humanity really worth the price she had paid?

‘No, not really,’ his matter of fact voice rang out in the silence.

Her eyes shifted in the mirror until they met cold, blue ones. He stood behind her, his frame blocking the rest of the doorway. He wasn’t as tall as her but that didn’t matter. His mere presence oozed power, demanded respect, and called everyone’s attention towards him. And so what if she was the only one that could see him? She had heard tales of what he had been like when he had walked the Earth and she knew from bitter experience the kind of power he commanded.

She knew the things he could do, had learnt so much from him, so what did that make her? She had been taught how to handle her power by the devil himself, had gone to him willingly too.

‘It makes you mine,’ he growled, menacingly. Closing her eyes, Hope sighed in resignation.

Hope slipped past him, tugging her jacket on as she walked away. Even though he was a figment of her own broken mind, she still treated him like he was real. Like if she walked into him, she would hit solid flesh and not just pass right through him. She really was crazy.

A low growl sounded behind her and she froze, her posture rigid and eyes wide. She had spent enough time with him to know when she could push her luck and when she should do exactly as he wanted. She didn’t hear him move but she felt it when he came up behind her. Close, but not touching, never touching. Hope knew it was impossible, but she could _feel_ his breath hot on her ear, could smell the faint stench of sulphur hidden beneath the distinct smell of earth and ash, her overactive imagination supplied everything needed to make him seem real. Well, real to her anyway.

His voice was low as he spoke, managing to be gentle yet commanding, ‘All this bullshit about guilt, about what’s right, and for what? For hope, glory, love?’

For what? What had she done it all for? She didn’t believe in hope, it might be the name her foolish godfather had given her but it was for the weak-minded and she had no desire, or need, for glory. Maybe she had done it for the sake of humanity, done it to ensure that the world kept on turning as it should? No. She did it for love.

An unrequited love, a love that had no chance of becoming anything more than a hopeless crush on the only person who had been a constant in her life, on the only man that mattered to her, more than anything. Mattered more even than the fate of humanity. She was so silly, stupid even. She had become the worst thing possible, one of the greatest monsters to walk the earth, all because the man she loved had asked it of her. She was a fool. No, she was worse than that, she was a fool in love and she knew, from the books and stories she had read as a child, how that ended and there was no ‘happily ever after’ at the end.

‘This is who you are,’ he growled. His words were harsher now, so much conviction behind them that Hope found it impossible to ignore them. To ignore him.

Squeezing her eyes closed, Hope pulled in a ragged breath, her skin tingled where his hands had moved to hover over her shoulders. She could feel her heart pounding in her rib cage, her blood rushing through her ears so loudly that she almost missed his whispered words.

‘It doesn’t matter if you succeed or fail, you will always end up here, like this, with me,’ he whispered seductively in her ear.

Hope tried not to cry, willed her legs not to give out beneath her. The weight of his words felt like a tonne of bricks crashing down on top of her; her fate sealed. She felt like she was back in that field, standing on the edge the precipice and looking down into the swirling portal that led to the Cage, faced with a choice that would either ruin her or make her. With a huff of resignation, Hope gave in, just like she had given in all those years ago.

He was right, he was always right. It didn’t matter what she did. Even if she managed to change the world’s destined path she was still always going to end up here. Broken, crazy, and alone. It was inevitable really, scrawled so deep into her DNA it was a miracle she hadn’t gone entirely off the deep end yet. She was heading that way though; it wouldn’t be long until she was locked in a padded cell, rocking herself back and forth, huddled in a corner as she mumbled about demons and deities, about the end of days and failed destinies. Her only company the twisted and grotesque hallucinations of the one person who had promised never to leave her, had promised to stay with her no matter what.

‘It’s your destiny,’ he murmured.

Her _destiny_. Gods, she hated that word. Everyone was always banging on about her damn destiny. How she had to do this and do that: murder these people; save these ones; no, wait, kill those ones too. You have to, it’s your destiny. Well, they could all go fuck themselves. Destiny meant nothing to her; it wasn’t even an option. She wasn’t going to follow some pre-determined plan that had been decided long before she could have a say in it. She wasn’t going to become just another compliant character in the _Book of Life_. She was going to write her own story and anyone who got in her way would end up like everyone else that had crossed her or gotten close to her: dead and buried.

Shrugging out of the imaginary hold that her hallucinated Lucifer had on her, Hope stalked towards the door in the far corner, determination evident in the set of her shoulders and the glint in her eyes. Without stopping she shouted back at the man who still stood in the middle of the room, ‘You coming?’

She didn’t need to see him to know he was smirking triumphantly. It was a redundant question anyway, he would follow her wherever she went; after all, he was a part of her.

‘Where we going?’ he asked, smugly.

Glancing up at the door, Hope smiled devilishly. He was leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest, eyes boring into hers like he could pick every thought from her mind before she even had them, and considering where he came from it was likely he could. Hope stopped just in front of him, leaned forward, and reached round him to grasp the door handle. Looking up at him through long eyelashes, she gave him her best innocent look, one that she had perfected when her age had still been in single digits, her slightly seductive smirk ruining the image slightly.

Staring at her in amusement, Lucifer raised a questioning eyebrow at her. This was an old game of theirs, constantly flitting between flirting and fighting, it’s how they functioned.

‘To raise a little hell,’ she drawled.

With that, she shoved the door open and walked out into the cool night air, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. She had spent too long doing what others told her, being what they wanted her to be. It was time to have a little fun and she knew exactly where to start.


	15. Please, I Promise I’ Will Be Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is the next chapter, it is a long one. As always thank you to Ciar for being my beta. I don’t own anything to do with Supernatural though one can wish. So hope you enjoy.

Cutting the engine, Dean looked up at the familiar, old house with weary eyes. It had been two days since he had spoken to Bobby, one whole day more than he had assured the older hunter they would be back by. But Sam had been hurt, his shoulder now an ugly mess of jagged stitches, wrapped in gauze where Dean had done his best to fix his brother up, and Dean had wanted to make sure Sam’s wound wouldn’t get infected before they left. Dean really didn’t fancy the idea of sawing an infected arm off and he didn’t think Sam would be too happy about it either.

Well, that was what Dean was going to tell Bobby, though the truth was a little different. Dean had been worried about Sam, always had been and probably always would be, but as well as being concerned about Sam’s injury he was also tired, worn out, and in desperate need of a chance to unwind. so he had done the only thing he could with Sam so out of it on painkillers: he had gone out drinking to celebrate another ‘successful’ hunt. Initially, he had tried to get Sam to go with him, to unwind a little too, but Sam had flat out said no and Dean hadn’t pushed it because he had seen how exhausted his brother looked. So Dean had helped Sam into bed and told him to get his beauty sleep while he could, because he obviously needed it, and then he had tried to slip out the door before Sam reacted. A pillow hit the door with a dull thud as Dean hastily pulled it closed, Sam’s well-aimed throw only just missing him.

Sitting alone at a bar had been a strange, somewhat unsettling experience; Dean had grown so used to having Sam with him, as welcome company and a restraining influence, that he had drunk more than he usually did these days. He got so drunk, in fact, that he had ended up flirting with the sort of cute bartender. As she moved around behind the bar, he flashed her his best smile every time she passed him a drink and, in return, she gave him some smiles of her own and a few discreet flashes of her ample cleavage when she bent over to reach bottles on lower shelves. As the night wore on, Dean got steadily more wasted and his ability to make any sort of good decision was well on its way to the next State and waving him goodbye in the rear-view mirror. And that’s why he did it: too much whisky, the build-up of months of stress and fear, and no moral compass in the form of Sam to keep him from doing something really, _really_ stupid; it was all of that combined with his own amazing talent for fucking things up.

It happened fast and, really, Dean wasn’t entirely sure _how_ it had actually happened. It had been near closing time and the cute bartender had come off shift and asked him to join her for a nightcap. One moment he had been leaning over to say something that could be construed as suggestive, flashing her his best reckless grin, and the next he found himself stumbling into a bathroom stall and being backed up against the wall, with his pants around his ankles and his dick shoved down the woman’s throat, as she enthusiastically worked her mouth up and down his hard length. It had been good, in the way that drunken blowjobs can seem like an awesome idea at the time, but, after the initial surprise at finding his dick in someone’s mouth, his thoughts had been all about Sam. Dean’s tired eyes slid closed and he leaned his head back against the wall as he thought about how Sam would wrap his large hands around Dean’s thighs; how Sam would hum and moan as if Dean’s dick was the best-tasting thing in the universe; how Sam would always leave Dean wanting more, even when was spent and exhausted; how Sam just did it better in every way imaginable. It had been the thoughts of Sam sucking his cock that had finally gotten him off.

As soon as he had regained some sort of composure, Dean had pulled up his pants and fled the small bathroom, leaving a confused and disappointed woman calling after him as he literally ran out of the almost empty bar. The sound of her voice followed him as he burst through the doors and ran, weaving drunkenly, to the safety of the Impala. By the time he made it back to the motel, on thankfully quiet roads and managing to drive without drawing the attention of the cops, Sam was completely out of it, lying sprawled, and snoring, across the bed furthest from the door, just like always. Dean didn’t even bother looking at the room’s empty bed, he stripped off his clothes, scrunching up his nose at the lingering smell of sex and cheap whisky, before he gently peeled back the covers and slipped into the bed next to Sam, wrapping himself tightly around his brother’s large frame.

He had fallen asleep like that, face shoved into the crook of Sam’s neck - arm slung over his  stomach and their legs tangled together - surrounding himself in his brothers’ scent in a vain attempt to mask the stench of his stupid mistake.

~*~

The next morning, Dean had allowed Sam to assume that his low mood was solely a result of his killer hangover. During breakfast, Dean had been quiet and unable to eat much, his stomach churning with each flashback from the night before, so the brothers hadn’t lingered over their meal and had hit the road early. They’d been driving for an hour or so, when Sam had finally given up on getting Dean to respond to his efforts at conversation and had decided to leave Dean to wallow in his silence. Sighing, Dean turned to look at his sleeping brother. Sam was slumped in the passenger seat, head resting against the window, his forehead wrinkled in creases. He looked troubled and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Sam had any inkling about what Dean had done the night before. Sam was very perceptive; he could read Dean well and, generally, he could tell when Dean had done something he didn’t feel proud of, so it wouldn’t have been a complete surprise to Dean if Sam had noticed something, some small detail that might later serve to give Dean away like a flashing neon sign.

Dean ran a hand over his face and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the overwhelming feeling of guilt that had set in during the night and refused to let go since. He had tried telling himself that he didn’t necessarily have to feel guilty about what had happened: as well as being Winchesters, he and Sam were brothers, so they had never opened up to each other to discuss if what they had with each other was exclusive and, anyway, whatever it was that was going on between them was all kinds of wrong. Like going to Hell wrong, and as the older brother, Dean knew he should be putting his foot down and stopping this, whatever it was, before it got too out of hand.

Their relationship - Dean cringed at the word being applied to what he was doing with his little brother - was made up of a handful of basic needs that weren’t being met out in the real world, and that he and Sam had come to realise they could meet for each other. Hell had fucked with both of them in ways that no one else could ever really understand and, if he was being honest with himself - and it wasn’t often that he was - Dean didn’t want anyone to understand. Those memories were his and, even though he genuinely wished they weren’t, he couldn’t imagine forcing them onto someone else.

Dean’s time in Hell had been all about breaking his personality down and reducing him to his most basic instincts before rebuilding him to fit the mould the demons wanted, which meant giving him power over others, giving him control over their pain and their suffering and, after enduring so much agony himself, the chance to share his rage with others meant he had liked it, liked it a lot. When Castiel had finally dragged Dean out of the Pit, and shoved Dean’s soul shoved back into his body, Dean had been left with the lingering, shameful, Hell-born desire to control, to crave having someone’s life in his hands, to be the one who decided what they got, how often they had it, and how much it hurt. But the shame he felt meant that he had worked hard at shoving it all to the back of his mind, drinking to excess to help him bury it under a fog of alcohol, and denial, as well as everything else that had been happening as part of the battle between Heaven and Hell, until he hardly noticed it. And then Sam had willingly jumped into Hell.

Sam’s time in the Cage had been very different to Dean’s time with Alastair. His brother had been the plaything of two enraged and powerful archangels and they had spent every second making his brother pay for what he had done to trap them there. Dean didn’t really know much about his brother’s time in the Cage, the wall Death had built up around that part of Sam’s mind kept the details safely locked away so that Sam couldn’t remember them and so he wouldn’t become a babbling, psychotic mess or, even worse, end up dead. Sam may not have been able to explicitly remember his time in the Cage, or his time on Earth without a soul, but he had come back changed from his time in Hell. He was different now and Dean could only guess what had been done to him to alter parts of him so drastically. Hell had driven Dean to crave control and it had instilled in Sam a longing to be controlled; a need to be manipulated and twisted, forced to do what another wanted until their will became his, but only when it came to sex. Try controlling him any other time and Sam was likely to punch you in the face.

Dean had his suspicions about what those two soul-sucking bastards had done to his brother to flip his sexual preference completely on its head, but Dean really didn’t want to think about it in detail; it hurt too much to think about Sam being that vulnerable and helpless, and so Dean could deal with being as unknowing as Sam was. He didn’t want to think about how Sam liked Dean to give him a little, well a lot, of pain with his pleasure. Didn’t want to think about how easily Sam bent to his commands, his demands of ‘you’re my bitch, you will take what I give you.’ Didn’t want to think about how easy it had been to make Sam his. But, above all, Dean didn’t want to think about how fucked up he clearly was for wanting it in the first place, for enjoying how Sam bent to his every whim or how much he loved having his baby brother’s life in his hands. But, after what Hell had done to them, they were each what the other needed and Dean would rather Sam was doing this with him instead of some guy in a dingy back room in some shady club. At least Dean knew that he would never truly hurt Sam, knew that if Sam really needed him to stop, he would, no matter what. God, they were fucked up.

Sighing, Dean leaned over and grabbed Sam’s good shoulder. Dean shook him gently, calling out as he did. ‘Hey, Sammy, time to wake up’.

The nickname that he had been using since Sam was just a baby slipped from Dean’s lips easily and left him feeling sick. Sam definitely wasn’t a kid anymore and the idea of Sam being his pre-teen self once more was a thought that Dean didn’t want to be anywhere near, ever, especially considering what he had just been thinking about moments before.

Sam slowly blinked his eyes open, turning to look at Dean in a sleepy confused haze. ‘Wha?’

Dean plastered on his best, and hopefully most convincing, smile at Sam’s sleepy, half-mumbled words, hoping that a smile would hide his inner guilt and conflict. ‘We’re here,’ he said, jerking his head towards Bobby’s house. Dean let his hands drop from his brother’s shoulder. The way Dean felt about himself at the moment, particularly after what he had done the night before, made him feel like he had no right to be dirtying Sam with his tainted and sick self.

Turning his confused eyes towards the house, Sam blinked a few times before he pushed himself up so he was sitting upright in the seat and groaning as he stretched out his cramped legs as best as the small space would allow, his hands coming up to rub at his face. Dean didn’t miss the wince of pain as Sam moved his shoulder, aggravating the recent wound and probably pulling at his stitches. Sam had dosed up on painkillers before they had left the motel, probably taking well over the recommended dose, but there was only so much pills could do and Dean knew, from experience, that they only dulled the pain.

With a huff of resignation, Dean pushed the car door open and slipped out, the gravel crunching under his boots as he moved back so he could shut the door, the old car’s hinges creaking as he swung it closed. Sparing a brief glance towards the seemingly quiet house, Dean made his way to the trunk, his eyes darting up to the house once more, briefly, looking for signs of life; there weren’t any. Dean yanked the trunk open and ducked down to rummage through the few bags they each had. Something didn’t feel right about Bobby’s house: it was too quiet, too still, as if somehow everything had come to a stop. Almost like they had stumbled into a painting.

Dean fixed his gaze on the front door and pulled his weapons bag towards him, yanking the zip down and pulling out his gun. Quickly, he checked to make sure it was loaded before slipping it into his waistband at the back of his jeans, the cool metal comforting against his skin. Just as quickly, he pulled his shirt down, hoping it would hide the obvious lump of the weapon. Dean knew that if Sam had seen him tooling up he would have been anxious about something bad happening to Dean, or Bobby, and Dean didn’t want Sam under pressure until his shoulder healed. But the way Dean saw it, it didn’t hurt to be prepared for the worst. Sure, Bobby had checked Hope out and given her the all clear but they had been wrong in the past, spectacularly wrong actually, and there was just something about Hope Dean couldn’t place. And there was what had happened to Tad Anderson, Sam had been convinced that Hope had kidnapped the guy and Dean had listened to Sam’s very convincing case in favour of treating Hope with caution.

Dean still felt as though he knew Hope somehow, felt as if he had met her before, but he was damned if he knew where. It didn’t help that she knew so much about him and Sam either, things that Dean had once considered private, and hidden from the rest of the world, Sam included. It didn’t matter if what she knew was all from those damn _Supernatural_ books, even if that was actually where she got her information from, it was still too much. And then there was the vampire hunt, Hope’s behaviour had made Dean feel like he should have a gun trained on her the whole time they were in the same room. If Sam had once got such strong bad vibes from Hope, Dean would have to trust his brother’s instincts and keep on guard around her.

The creak of the passenger door was loud in the silence of the early afternoon, as Sam threw it open, the car visibly lifting slightly as it was freed of Sam’s weight. Keeping his eyes down, Dean ignored his brothers approach the best he could, but with every step Sam took closer the gravel crunched under his boots making it impossible to not feel him getting closer, a shiver of guilt rearing its ugly head and running down Dean’s spine with every step, feeling way too much like Sam’s fingers ghosting down his back, tracing over the bumps of his spine. Glaring down at his duffle of dirty laundry, Dean tried to shove his guilty thoughts away. He should have stayed with Sam in the motel room last night, he shouldn’t have gone out drinking or flirted with that bartender, he shouldn’t have let things get as out of hand as they did, but, then again, he shouldn’t want his brother in the way he did, his baby brother who he had practically raised; who, at one point, had been closer to being Dean’s own kid than their dad’s. Dean’s stomach churned, that one thought making his guilt about his previous night’s actions, and about what he and Sam were doing together, that much worse.

As Sam came to stand next to him, Dean grabbed his brother’s duffle and shoved it at him, using a little more force than was really necessary, taking his anger at himself out on the one person who could probably understand some of what he was going through, if only Dean could bring himself to open up about his feelings. Sam let out a small grunt as the bag of clothes hit him in the stomach, his hands darting up to catch it before it fell to the ground. Dean didn’t need to see Sam to know that his brother was staring at him, Dean could feel his younger brother’s eyes boring into the back of his neck, but he just couldn’t bring himself to turn round and see Sam’s obvious confusion tinged with hurt.

Dean lent further into the trunk reaching for his own bag of dirty clothes that had somehow slid to the back. Deep in his heart, Dean knew he should talk to Sam, convince him what they were doing was so wrong that not even God would be able to forgive them this, and that Dean should just go to some fetish club every now and then to work out whatever kind of issues he had, because what they were doing should never have happened and if Dean had been the big brother he was supposed to be it wouldn’t have. Hell, if Dean had been the big brother he was supposed to, Sam would never have ended up in the Pit in the first place. But Dean had failed, and Sam had become the Devil’s plaything, and he and Dean had ended up fucking like they were the last two people on Earth, and nothing Dean could do now would change that. But Dean didn’t think it would matter even if he could go back and change all that, because the words he should really say were stuck in his throat, slowly choking him, and, no matter what he told himself about how much he was fucking up both their lives, he just couldn’t get those few words out that would end this crazy and fucked up thing between them.

Dean knew that the sad truth was he was sick, sick in mind, body, and soul. He wanted Sam all to himself - he always had, ever since they were kids and Sam was his responsibility to take care of and to keep safe - but, in addition to having Sam’s undivided attention, now Dean liked the fact that Sam was his to do with as he pleased. When they acted on their desires, he enjoyed bending the usually stubborn Sam to his will, craved the way Sam so willingly fell to his knees as soon as Dean so much as glanced significantly at the floor. It didn’t matter where they were, whether it was the relative privacy a motel room offered or a relatively quiet strip of road that Dean had veered off of because he had to have Sam and couldn’t stand to wait however long it would take to find a motel or an abandoned barn. But most of all he loved that he could, for once in his life, give Sam exactly what he wanted, what he needed, what would keep Sam with him and stop him from ever wanting to leave again. He was being selfish, yeah, he wouldn’t deny that and he knew that huge parts of his and Sam’s relationship was seriously twisted but, despite all that, he still didn’t see himself being brave enough to give up Sam, and what they had together, any time soon because Dean knew he was weak and he didn’t know how he was supposed to keep going, how he was supposed to carry on breathing without Sam at his side.

Scowling, Dean swung the weapons bag over his shoulder while pulling his other bag out of the trunk, He was aware of the fact that he was spending far too much time in his own head, wallowing in his own twisted thoughts, and it was only making things worse. Dean slammed the trunk closed with a little more force than necessary. He barely even glanced at Sam as he stalked past him, trying to focus his attention completely on the house in front of him, thankful for the distraction, and God knew he need a distraction right about now, before he ended up in a shouting match  with his brother over the hood of the Impala that might break Sam in a way that he wouldn’t be able to fix.

There was still no sign of Bobby coming outside to greet them and Dean’s sense of unease grew with every step he took closer to the house. He looked from one side of the yard to the other as found himself slipping back into hunter mode, not that he was truly ever out of that mindset any more. He didn’t know what he would do if something had happened to Bobby while they had been away.  Coming to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps, Dean chanced a quick glance at his brother. Sam was standing just behind him, looking down at Dean with his eyes full of concern and his brows furrowed in confusion. In that moment, all Dean wanted was to reach up and pull his brother down into a kiss, to make them both forget the past 48 hours, hell, to make Sam forget the past six years, but right now Dean would settle for just making Sam smile. He hadn’t even realised he had moved until he felt Sam’s skin under his palm, his hand cupping Sam’s cheek, the thumb rubbing gently under his brother’s eye. Sam leaned into Dean’s touch, his movement bringing Dean to his senses, making him remember that this wasn’t the time or the place: they were standing outside Bobby’s house. Dean yanked his hand back quickly, trying to cover his lapse in judgement, but he didn’t miss the look of pain that flashed across Sam’s face or the way Sam seemed to shrink back into himself as if Dean had physically hurt him. Dean cursed his clumsy handling of a tricky situation but surely Sam could understand: what they were doing was wrong and Dean couldn’t stand the thought of what people would do to Sam if they found out.

Glancing around, to make sure the intimate act hadn’t been seen, Dean turned and walked briskly up the steps onto the porch. He tried to keep his body language calm but his conscience was tearing him a new one for being so stupid: what had he been thinking, touching Sam so openly like that? What if Bobby had seen it, what would he have done? Accusations would have been thrown, as well as punches, and, knowing Sam like he did, Dean knew his brother would try and take all the blame, just to ensure Dean’s safety. Dean often felt like he really didn’t deserve the unconditional love and blind faith Sam seemed to have for him. And, after his transgression with the bartender the night before, Dean really didn’t feel like he deserved even the small sliver of happiness that Sam granted him.

Standing in front of Bobby’s faded and weathered door, Dean took a deep breath in an effort to still his racing thoughts. As usual, there was too much going on in his head and, like always, Sam was at the forefront, demanding Dean’s attention. Dean squared his shoulders, he needed to have a clear head for whatever was on the other side of the door, whether it was a Bobby who was pissed off because they hadn’t called or a dead body. The way Dean’s luck had been running lately, it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility for them to find the latter option but he really hoped it wouldn’t be the case, he didn’t think he could handle the heartbreak of losing the only other family he had left. God, he needed a drink, he could not be dealing with all this chick-flick crap at the moment. Taking one last look at his brother, who was still standing at the bottom of the steps looking at Dean dejectedly, Dean raised his hand to knock on the door. But before his hand could touch the wood, the door was flung open to show Bobby standing on the other side looking at the brothers with a disapproving expression.

Bobby looked exactly the same as he had before they had left, tired and irritable, though a little more dishevelled. His trucker cap was askew and his shirt un-tucked with buttons in the wrong holes. The older man’s face was pale and drawn and he was breathing slightly harder than he should have been.

‘Well? You two idjits comin’ in or what?’ Bobby barked. The door creaked as Bobby let go of it and moved back into the house, disappearing round a corner and into a room at the end of the corridor. Dean stood, his tired mind failing to comprehend exactly what the hell it was that Bobby was angry with him for this time. Dean was jogged from his thoughts by Sam placing a large hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently to get his attention. Dean turned to look up at his brother to see Sam looking back at him with a weary smile, his eyes searching for some sort of explanation for Dean’s strange behaviour the last few days or so. Narrowing his eyes slightly, Dean clenched his jaw and shrugged out of his brother’s grasp. He walked into the house quickly, following Bobby’s path into the study; he didn’t feel up to facing Sam’s incisive gaze, not until he had had the chance to try and deal with the stupid things his fucked-up, twisted nature made him do.

Bobby looked up, from whatever tome he was poring over, as Dean strode into the room. Bobby’s cap, once again, was back in its right place as his eyes flickered over Dean - taking in everything about Dean’s appearance from the dark circles under his eyes down to the spattering of mud on his boots - before they darted past him to give Sam the same kind of scrutiny. The Winchesters had gone through this often enough to recognise the unspoken concern in the older man’s eyes.

Turning back to his book, Bobby adjusted his position in his chair, the rustling of pages turning sounding much louder than usual in the quiet room. ‘You two get lost or somethin’?’ he asked.

At Bobby’s mumbled words, Dean felt some of his apprehension slip away. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been expecting something a little more along the lines of a smack to the back of the head. Deciding that the best form of defence was attack, Dean smiled widely at Bobby before dumping his bag on the floor and flinging himself at the tatty looking couch in the corner of the room. Instantly, Dean arched forward, his gun digging painfully into his lower back as he tried to find a way to sit that didn’t involve the damned thing gouging into his spine. Less painful position achieved, Dean swung his legs up to rest his booted feet on the small table in front of him, ignoring Bobby’s pointed glare and huff of annoyance. Flinging an arm over the back of the couch, Dean gestured towards his brother with the other. Sam was still standing by the door, moving Dean’s bags out of the middle of the doorway and placing them nicely against the wall with his own, always the neat freak.

Dean glanced back at Bobby who was obviously waiting for an answer. ‘Nah, the princess over there needed his beauty sleep,’ he drawled.

Sam turned his head round to glare at Dean who smiled widely in return, giving Sam his best shit eating grin, the one that never failed to get under Sam’s skin. Narrowing his eyes at Dean, Sam straightened up from where he had been bending down to pick up Dean’s bag and kicked it, sending it hurtling towards the wall and hitting it with a dull thud. Flashing Dean a smug smile, Sam took the few steps over to the sofa, dropping his large frame down next to Dean’s. His long hair ghosted against Dean’s fingers, as he tipped his head back, sending warmth up Dean’s arm and down his spine. Shooting his still smiling younger brother an unimpressed look out the corner of his eyes, Dean turned his attention back to Bobby, who had placed the old-looking book back down on the desk and was staring at them with a fond expression and what seemed like a knowing glint in his eyes. Shifting where he sat, Dean’s smile wavered slightly, quickly becoming uncomfortable under Bobby’s perceptive gaze. Dean didn’t want the nearest thing he had to a father figure guessing the truth; he didn’t want Bobby to guess at how sick Dean really was or how low he had sunk. Dean was convinced that it would break the older man’s heart if he ever found out how Dean’s relationship with Sam had changed. Thankfully, Sam broke the silence, though the line of questioning wasn’t really one that Dean wanted.

‘Where’s Hope?’ Sam asked, not sounding casual in the least.

Trying his hardest not to groan with exasperation, Dean bit the inside of his lip, tilting his head back so he could look up at the ceiling; his brother was like a dog with a bone when he got an idea fixed in his head. Right at that moment, Dean was too tired to care where Hope was. She could be back down in Texas with a nest of vamps or getting her rocks off in some strip club in Vegas, he just hoped it didn’t cause any trouble for him. As the thought flashed through his mind, something else curled through Dean, something almost familiar, that reminded him of the time when Sam was sixteen and he had caused Dean so much trouble by sneaking out of their motel to follow in the age-old Winchester tradition of getting roaring drunk. Dean had spent all night driving round the town they were staying in, trying to find Sam before their Dad got back from his hunt and tanned both their asses, only to arrive back at the motel in the early hours of the morning to find his baby brother slumped against the motel room door, passed out and smelling like a liquor store. That had not been a good night for Dean and, once Sam had woken up from his alcohol-induced stupor, he had made sure Sam’s day had been just as bad as Dean’s night had been - running five miles, before a hard session of hand to hand training, with a hangover from hell, had worked pretty well in putting Sam off the idea of getting drunk for a long time.

‘Out back,’ Bobby replied. ‘For some unknown reason, she wanted to talk to you two.’

Dean closed his eyes in frustration at Bobby’s gruff words. Right up to the point where he had totally screwed Sam over, and not in the good way, Dean’s mind had been taken up with trying to solve the problem of _her_. She appeared friendly but she was an unknown quantity, and it didn’t matter what Bobby said. Until Dean had proof that Hope was entirely on their side and wasn’t a threat, he _could not_ afford to trust her as far as he could throw her. In the small part of his mind that didn’t want any further trouble piled on his shoulders, he had been hoping that Hope would have been gone by the time they made it back to Bobby’s, thinking that maybe she would run for the hills because, after all, they had kind of kidnapped her, tied her up, and threatened to do all manner of painful and bloody things to her, well he had; Sam had suddenly been sporting his usual innocent until proven a monster attitude, and when Sam had actually untied her, Dean had been so close to thumping him, but Sam had a mind of his own and he had a habit of proving it, every opportunity he got.

Sam shifted next to him on the couch, leaning forward and pulling his hair from between Dean’s fingers. Dean hadn’t even noticed that he had been playing with his brother’s hair, twirling the silky strands at the nape of Sam’s neck around his fingers. Turning his head slightly, Dean watched as Sam leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at Bobby with a questioning expression, but Dean could see the small glimmer of interest underneath, sparkling in Sam’s eyes.

Dean wasn’t the jealous type, at least he refused to let himself be that way, and he frequently told himself that he had no reason to be because Sam was his. Sam belonged to him _and_ he was Dean’s brother, no big-breasted, smug, little girl was ever going to change that, not without one hell of a fight. As soon as the darker, angrier thoughts entered his mind Dean tried to slam down on them, feeling sick at experiencing that domineering and controlling part of himself. As much as he was possessive of Sam, Dean knew Sam wasn’t his possession, he wasn’t Dean’s to own and play with as he pleased: Sam was a person, his little brother, someone Dean should protect and love. And the more often that Dean could remember that, the better off they would both be. But, lately, it didn’t seem to matter what he did, or how many times he told himself the same thing over and over again, Dean couldn’t shake the thought of how good Sam looked kneeling at Dean’s feet, bound and blindfolded, and completely at Dean’s mercy. He couldn’t forget the feeling of power, and the need to claim and possess, that would take hold of him until they were both just a mess of tangled limbs and all that was left was an overwhelming feeling of love and the knowledge that he was loved back just as fiercely. Yes, Sam loved him back but it didn’t stop all of it from being wrong.

‘So, I hear you got felt up by a werewolf.’

Dean’s head swung to face the source of the already familiar, cheerful voice, his pulse quickening as his fingers twitched, his body wanting to react to something that could be threat.

Hope was leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, shirtsleeves rolled up to expose tanned skin and the hint of deep black ink just visible along the top of her wrist. Her green eyes were sparkling with amusement, an easy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. To Dean’s eyes, she looked far too smug and all he really wanted was to rub that expression off her face: it looked ugly and false. Dean couldn’t explain how he knew she was putting on a front but he couldn’t stand the thought of her hiding something from them, and all that did was piss him off more, because he knew he shouldn’t give a damn about her; she _may_ have saved their lives (the jury was still out on that one) but she was nothing to him.

Glaring at her, Dean shifted in his seat until he was sitting up straight. He let his feet fall to the floor with a dull thud.

‘No need for you to sound so happy about it,’ he responded, brusquely. He knew his words were harsh and rude, and he could see Bobby scowling at him and Sam glaring at him, but Hope did nothing; didn’t blink, didn’t even acknowledge that Dean had said anything.

Still smiling, Hope pushed herself away from the door and stalked across the room, her eyes lingering on Sam as she passed, losing some of hardness as they softened slightly, affection flittering around the edges.

Dean continued to glare at her, refusing to take his eyes off the woman as she moved across the room.

‘Stings like a bitch, right,’ she said, as she came to a stop in front of Bobby’s desk, bracing her hands against the edge as she leaned back. She smiled easily, almost charmingly, and once again all Dean wanted was to punch the arrogance right out of her.

‘That only lasts a week or so,’ she continued, ‘and then it just itches like a bitch for a couple of weeks.’ Her smile faltered for just a second, sadness briefly showing in her eyes, but as quickly as it had appeared it was gone, and she was once again all smug smiles and knowing looks.

At some point, Sam had stopped glaring at Dean for his rudeness and had turned to look at Hope, his brow creased in thought. Dean knew that look; Sam had gotten it all the time when he was younger, looking down at all the pieces of a puzzle spread out on the carpet of whatever dive they were in that week, trying to figure out what went where. Sam was looking at Hope the exact same way, like she was a puzzle made up of odd shapes and mismatched sizes. Dean could see that Sam felt he was going to enjoy figuring out where all the pieces went and Dean couldn’t have that. He couldn’t stand the thought of Sam wanting to get close to this woman, this dubious stranger who had burst into their lives with no explanation.

‘Spoken like a bitch who knows,’ Dean threw back at her.

Sam turned to look at Dean as soon as the bitter-sounding words left Dean’s lips; Sam’s eyes wide as he looked at his brother with concern. Dean knew he was being nasty towards this woman, who had saved his and Sam’s lives, but he couldn’t take a risk on just trusting her without proof. Dean and Sam had taken people at face value in the past (that bitch Ruby being one of them) and it had turned out to be a huge mistake. Dean couldn’t take the chance it would happen again, not now that Sam finally had his soul back and seemed to be recovering from his time in Hell. Dean had to stay strong and vigilant to protect Sam, and that meant he couldn’t really let himself be vulnerable with anyone, not truly, and that included Sam. Which was a sad thought; he couldn’t even let his own brother, his lover, his only real friend know him completely because he was terrified of what would happen if Sam knew everything. Dean didn’t want what they had to change; they had averted the Apocalypse, fought off the Archangel bastards that wanted to use them as puppets, and they had managed to salvage something from the wreck their relationship had been after Sam had been released from the Cage. After all they’d been through, Sam needed Dean to be strong for him, so Dean didn’t want Sam looking at him with pity, or worse, disgust. He didn’t think that he could live through Sam rejecting him for being pathetic and weak again, like he had two years ago, so Dean made sure to always keep Sam a few steps back, a little in the dark.

Hope didn’t bat an eyelid at the insult, just brushing it off with a simple shrug of her shoulders. Leaning forward, she started to unbutton her shirt, her hands steady and methodical, her smile long gone and eyes cold. Dean’s eyes widened in confusion, the demand to know what the hell she was doing on the tip of his tongue, but as more of her tanned skin started to show the words died in his throat. Her skin was covered in scars: jagged and straight lines of different sizes, half-formed symbols and twisted lettering. They all stood out against her skin, each one demanding his attention before another was exposed and his eyes darted across to it. As more were exposed, Dean couldn’t suppress the surprise and disbelief that welled up inside of him. How had he not noticed them before, at the club, when she had had all that skin on display? He hadn’t seen any of them, not even a hint of marked skin and though he was loath to admit it, he had stared at her a lot that night.

Sam gasped next to him, no doubt heading down the same line of thought as Dean. The Winchesters had gone through a lot in their lives, and evidence of it had ended up mapped out on their skin, but they had both been brought back from the dead, their physical appearances as perfect as they could be. And, in the last two years, they had had Castiel on hand to heal any debilitating wounds. It was clear to see that Hope had been through a lot too, it was _really_ clear to see that, and briefly, Dean wondered if that was how he and Sam would look without angelic intervention.

Hope stopped unbuttoning her shirt, just above her navel, her black bra contrasted strongly against the pale blue of her shirt. Quickly, she ghosted her fingers back up to curl around her collar and tug it aside and down, exposing her right shoulder. Four long, thick, jagged scars ran from one side of her shoulder and down towards the middle of her back. The scars stood out against her golden skin, pink and puckered, shining slightly in the light as if they were new. As Dean stared, all he could think was that, one day, when they healed Sam’s new scars would look like that.

Dean had been the one who had stitched Sam up, had spent well over an hour concentrating on that one stretch of skin, cleaning away the blood and then tugging the needle through ripped flesh, pulling the sides of the deep claw marks back together to make the scars as slim as possible. He was always the one who stitched Sam back together again and he would continue to do it for as long as he drew breath.

Hope finally responded to Dean’s insult, ‘I suppose you could say that.’

Her sombre voice pulled Dean from his memories of stitching Sam’s wounds, his eyes followed her movements as she pulled her shirt back over her shoulder and hastily did the buttons back up, her eyes cast down and pointedly avoiding everyone else. The room was silent, all three men watching Hope. The air was thick with tension and Dean didn’t know what to do. He could tell that Sam was shooting him these little half-glares out the corner of his eyes, trying to will Dean to apologise, and Dean knew that he probably should do something, but what? What could he possibly do to make any of this better? You didn’t get into this life without knowing what could happen to you at any given moment. Scars were just part of the job, he and Sam had just been lucky that they had had an angel on their side, willing to patch them up if they needed it.

‘You wanted to talk?’ he said, slumping back into the chair as he looked pointedly at Hope, levelling her with a sharp and unimpressed gaze. He hadn’t meant to say it like that but he was always running his mouth before he thought, so why should now be any different?

‘Dean!’ Sam hissed at him, low and tinged with anger.

If Dean bothered to really pay attention he would probably say Sam was embarrassed too. Once they were alone, Dean knew Sam would rip into him, calling Dean out for being a dick for no apparent reason, and what would Dean say to him in response? _Sorry Sammy but your girlfriend gives me the creeps along with a major case of déjà vu_. Yeah, that wouldn’t go down well. Dean couldn’t see that being a fun conversation, plus it had far too much potential for Sam to turn it into a sharing and caring moment - and Dean really couldn’t have that right now, he had too much guilt riding near the surface and he didn’t want to take the chance that he might expose how he felt to Sam. Dean couldn’t take the risk that Sam might find out about the woman Dean had screwed around with - Dean hated emotional moments like that, he could never seem to get the right words out until it was too late, if he even managed to get them out at all. He had either learned, too well, how to repress from his father or he just wasn’t made that way; he couldn’t open up like Sam, not unless he was drunk to the point where his words slurred and he could hardly stand. And that hadn’t happened in years, his alcohol tolerance levels were so high now that he could drink a whole bottle of whisky without getting a real buzz.

‘It’s okay, Sam.’

Hope’s voice was gentle, her smile soft and understanding, but as her eyes briefly flickered from Sam towards him, Dean caught a glimpse of something, a knowing glint before she moved her gaze back to Sam and her eyes softened once more.

Glancing behind Hope, Dean sought out Bobby, hoping to get a glimpse of what the older man was thinking but Bobby simply looked tired, his mouth set in a grim line as he looked back at Dean with disapproval. Dean was caught by the expression in Bobby’s eyes, it made him feel worried again, suddenly, with the knowledge that somehow Bobby might know, know what Dean was doing and why he was doing it. Bobby wasn’t stupid and he could guess that Dean worked hard to keep people out, to trap himself behind an emotional wall just like John Winchester had, and Dean could see how much it hurt Bobby to see the kind of man Dean had become.

Unable to take the intensity of emotion in Bobby’s eyes, Dean darted his gaze over to the bookcase behind him, not really seeing any of the titles of the books. He felt empty, used up, and tired; anger and frustration were gnawing away at him as he started, once again, to lose himself in his mind, a place he never enjoyed spending time. After his thirty years in the Pit, Dean’s mind had many shadowy corners, full of darkness and hate and all the bad things that he had ever done, had ever dared to think of. The darkness lingered there, haunting him, twisting and tormenting him, constantly reminding him of the fact that he was really a broken, pathetic mess.

Hope’s voice broke through Dean’s thoughts. ‘Bobby found a hunt.’

Glancing towards the desk, Dean got a quick glimpse of Bobby as he shifted in his chair, an uneasy look on the man’s face as he pulled his cap down, casting his face in shadows before they settled on Hope.

Hope had folded her arms over her chest; her back rigid and head held high, her eyes fixed on Dean. On the surface, she looked calm, slightly cold even, but Dean could see the suspicion glinting in her eyes. He could also see the stain of the hard and ugly life she had lived visible underneath the false bravado, she couldn’t completely hide the damage a hunter’s life had done to her. It was exactly the same thing he saw every time he looked in a mirror.

‘Yeah?’ Sam asked, his obvious interest was enough to claw back Dean’s attention. Sam had always been too inquisitive for his own good, and things hadn’t changed much the older he got. It was just that the things he became interested in now were a hundred times more likely to end up getting him killed and Dean wasn’t convinced that Hope would be an exception to that rule.

Dean needed more information. ‘Where?’ he growled, eyes narrowing as he returned Hope’s cold stare.

She matched his glare, as she answered, both of them trying to stare the other down, neither one of them wavering, ‘Springfield, Illinois.’ She raised an eyebrow as she spoke, smirking slightly like she knew Dean would take the job, no matter what he thought of her.

Grunting, Dean settled back into the seat, once again throwing his arm over the back of the sofa. Absently, his hand returned to its former position and he ran his fingers lazily through the soft hair at the nape of Sam’s neck, the feel of the silky strands slipping through his callused fingers and the familiarity of the act calming him on a visceral level.

When Dean failed to respond, Hope continued with her explanation. ‘There’ve been a few odd incidents there over the last few weeks.’ Her smirk faltered slightly as she spoke.

‘Odd how?’ Dean responded brusquely. Watching, out of the corner of his eye as Sam  pursed his lips together tightly, Dean’s abrupt question cutting off whatever he had been about to say. Keeping his eyes on Hope, Dean felt, rather than saw, Sam turn his head to look at Dean, Sam’s expression and body language showing his frustration and confusion. Turning his head so he could look at Sam, they stared at one another, the emotion in Sam’s eyes so obvious that Dean was surprised his younger brother wasn’t dragging him out of the room for one of their intense ‘discussions’ about Dean’s rude behaviour.

‘What?’ he challenged.

Sam shook his head, frowning at Dean as he turned back to Hope, waiting for her answer. Though Sam definitely didn’t approve of the way Dean had spoken to the young woman, he wasn’t about to try and get Dean to take it back, and, frankly, he wanted to know as much as Dean did.

Turning back to Hope, Dean couldn’t help but watch as Bobby shook his head, staring down at his book as he continued to read, giving the impression that he was trying his best to stay out of what was going on around him. Dean knew then that, whatever Hope was about to say, Bobby knew everything already and he, apparently, didn’t have a problem with it. Feeling like the older hunter had just helped to set them up. Dean turned to look at Hope expectantly, he still wanted better answers from her before he was willing to commit his and Sam’s help on the proposed hunt.  

Another smug smile tugged at Hope’s lips as her body relaxed once again, oozing the confident and annoying carefree attitude that Dean had come to think as normal for the young woman: once again hiding behind the façade that she showed the world, just like Dean.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she drawled, ‘is a teacher turning up crucified to his classroom wall with three ball-point pens odd enough for you? Or maybe the cheerleader who broke both her legs while standing at the _top_ of the pyramid, or even the quarterback who went from looking like Captain America to looking like Steve Rogers overnight.’ Hope’s voice had got harsher as she spoke, her jaw set as she glared down at Dean.

Fighting the urge to sneer, and refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing that she was getting to him, Dean beamed up at her, instinctively resorting to his old tricks when he didn’t quite know what he should be doing. But he knew how he felt; he wanted to send this girl packing because he couldn’t get a handle on her, or her motives, and it made him nervous. Clapping, Dean rubbed his hands together; leaning forward in his chair as he made to get up, glad to have the annoying pressure of his gun digging into his spine gone again momentarily. Keeping his voice as light, and as cheery, as he could manage, Dean gestured as he spoke, his eyes glancing around at the room’s occupants. ‘Great, we can take a look at that but, first, Sam here needs some rest and I have _got_ to eat something other than…’

‘I want to go with you.’

The remainder of his intended words died on Dean’s lips as Hope’s softly spoken statement cut through his speech. The tension in the room increased in the ensuing silence. Dean didn’t know how to respond, he hadn’t been expecting that she would want to work a job with him and Sammy, he really hadn’t been expecting her to be here at Bobby’s at all. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Bobby crouching down farther over his book as he purposely avoided Dean’s questioning gaze. Dean was convinced that Bobby had known all along what Hope was going to ask. He was convinced that, while he and Sam were away, Bobby and Hope had probably had a good old chat about things. If Bobby was allowing her to ask this of him and Sam, knowing that Dean didn’t entirely trust her, and knowing that Dean preferred not to get involved with other hunters in general, Dean couldn’t lie; it felt a lot like betrayal.

‘You what?’ Dean asked, making no effort to hide the aggression in his tone.

Pushing away from the desk, Hope looked directly at him, straightening so she was at her full height. ‘I want to come with you, on the hunt.’

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched, in anger. She could not be serious, could she? How could she possibly want to spend time with the men who she knew didn’t trust her and who had dragged her to South Dakota against her will? Dean could not understand what had given her the impression that he was going to say yes to hunting with her? Right now, if he had his way, they would dump her in the nearest town and tell her to take a hike. He definitely didn’t want her around, didn’t want to spend any more time with her than was absolutely necessary, and as far as he saw it, the last twenty minutes hadn’t been.

Hope took a step towards the couch. ‘I _know_ you don’t really know me, but I’m a good hunter. I’m quick and, I know I don’t look it, but I can hold my own.’ She looked at Sam, addressing her next words to him rather than Dean, ‘And…I mean you’re _The_ Winchesters and there is so much you could teach me and I _promise_ I won’t get in your way. Look, I’ve even started compiling a case file but I…’

‘No.’ Dean’s rough voice cut through Hope’s babbling.

Her head hung, so she was staring at the floor, her body language giving every impression that she felt dejected at Dean’s refusal. Dean heard Bobby sigh and he turned to see the older man’s hand coming up to rub at his eyes as he moved to slump down in his chair. Hope’s looked up, her eyes darting from Dean to Sam then back again, her mouth opening and closing a few times, in obvious frustration, as she tried to think of what to say. Dean was prepared to reject any arguments she could come up and hoped that Sam would feel the same.

‘Please, I…’ Her voice was soft, an edge of pleading to it, her eyes practically begging him to reconsider.

Glaring, Dean stood up, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side. ‘No,’ he snarled, taking a step forward. As he stepped towards her, Hope took a step back, her eyes wary as if she thought Dean was going to hit her. He knew that her reaction should worry him, that his actions had left her with the impression that he was violent, that he was someone it was best to always be a good few feet away from, in case he lost his temper and beat someone to a bloody mess.

Dean’s arm jerked, as his brother’s fingers wrapped around his wrist gently. Sam’s small gesture would normally calm Dean, make the haze of anger clearer and make it easier to think things through, but not today. Dean was overtired, annoyed with being at the beck and call of others, and tired of being in the dark about what was going on.

‘Dean.’ Sam spoke his name softly and Dean felt compelled to turn and look down at his still-seated brother. Sam was looking up at him with a mix of pleading and confusion, questions that he didn’t have the answers to bubbling under his skin. His brow was creased in uncertainty, head slightly cocked to the side. The gesture looking more like it belonged on Castiel then Sam, but Dean couldn’t deny that Sam’s behaviour tugged at his heart.

Sighing, Dean finally began to feel some of the strong antipathy, that he had been feeling since he had set eyes on Hope again, begin to subside. Locking his gaze with Sam’s expressive eyes, Dean began to rub his thumb over Sam’s wrist, twisting his own hand at an awkward angle so he could reach the comfort of his brother’s skin. Dean felt drained, exhausted with this life that had been forced onto them from a young age. He hated the stress of having to hide his relationship with Sam because of the fear of what might happen to Sam if they were ever found out. He was just tired in general; he felt a strong desire to sink back down onto the old, ratty sofa and pull Sam into his arms. He longed to bury his face in the crook of Sam’s neck and let his brother’s presence invade his senses, he wanted to let Sam seep into every part of him and for once let Sam be in control - but, ultimately, he knew it wasn’t possible.

He couldn’t let whatever hold this woman seemed to have over his brother, and Bobby, pull him under. He had to keep driving on, staying strong, and getting Sam away from the unknown dangers Hope’s presence might bring into their lives. Dean had his brother back from Lucifer’s Cage and he would do whatever he could to protect Sammy from evil influences, whatever the cost.

‘I said no, Sam.’

Sam’s eyes widened at Dean’s words. Though they were softly spoken Sam knew his brother well enough to hear the anger and distrust Dean had for Hope and the request she had made. Dean watched as several emotions reflected in his brothers eyes before settling on silent anger. Sam’s grip on Dean’s wrist loosened before his hand fell away. Sinking back into the chair Sam turned his head away from Dean; jaw set, his cold eyes refusing to meet Dean’s.

Sighing, Dean shook his head slightly, turning from his brooding brother to once again glare at Hope, all his anger and frustration directed at this young woman who seemed to be trying to make Sam disagree with him. On one level, Dean knew it was wrong to use her as an outlet for his negative feelings, especially considering the fact that not all of his anger was her doing. Sam was sure to give him hell for it later, but she was there and Dean was wound up. Wound up enough to ignore all the reasons that should prevent him from behaving this way just so he could offload some of the crap he had buzzing around his head and repress the growing urge to shove Sam over the nearest flat surface and slam into him dry, just to feel the burn.

‘What makes you think we want you around, huh?’ Dean challenged her, his tone bitter as he took another step forward and Hope once again stepped back, her buttocks hitting the side of Bobby’s desk making it impossible for her to go anywhere, unless she was going to bolt for the door and Dean felt fine with that: at least she would be gone.

Hope took a breath before starting to respond, ‘I…’

Dean interrupted her again, her voice sounding small as it trailed off and he slowly made his way towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘You think just because you read some books, took on a vampire or two, that makes you a hunter?’

His words echoed around Dean’s head, too similar to the ones his dad had said when Dean was 15 and had snuck off to take out a ghost on his own, desperate to prove his was good enough to hunt solo. It hadn’t gone quite so well. His Dad had burst in, finding Dean bloody and broken on the floor, the vengeful spirit he had been hunting standing over him with a vicious smile. Dean knew he had been stupid, his inexperience showing that night, and it had almost gotten him killed. He had felt that he deserved his father’s disappointment and anger. He hadn’t deserved to have Sam curl himself around Dean’s bruised and sore body as he tried his hardest not to cry into his baby brother’s shirt. Dean had never felt more like he didn’t deserve Sam’s love.

As Hope stared back at him, it felt like the rest of the world had stopped for him, disappearing as soon as it was outside his field of vision. His entire focus narrowed down to just him, Hope, and the silent battle that raged inside of him. One part of his mind yelling at him to make her scared - do whatever was necessary to get her to go away - the other side urging him to stop, to calm down and reassure Hope that he wasn’t a threat to her. He was confused, so lost in his own conflicting emotions that it hurt.

As Dean had spoken, something in Hope’s demeanour changed, her eyes darkened, all traces of the stunned and stuttering little girl she had just been, vanishing. Hope pushed herself away from the desk and took a step forward, sneering at Dean. She looked vicious, anger radiating of her so strongly that Dean was sure he could feel it.

When she spoke, her voice was low, more of a growl, full of anger with just a tinge of distain. ‘I have done a _HELL_ of a lot more than just…’

Dean didn’t wait for her to finish before he took that last step to stand directly in front of her,  ‘You’re a child…’ he yelled.

Any normal person would have stopped there, but Dean wasn’t normal, not in any universe was he normal. The words just came tumbling out, his anger getting the better of him, just like it always seemed to these days, ‘…and I will not be responsible for what happens to you because you’re too damn inexperienced to know the difference between a witch and a demon.’

The room fell into silence, Dean’s heavy breathing sounding louder than it should. As he had shouted at her, he had seen the anger fading from Hope’s eyes to be be replaced with hurt. He could see the tears welling up and threatening to spill over. In that moment, he felt disappointed with himself; like a bully in the playground he was being cruel now and for what?

In the next moment it was all changed, every emotion disappeared from Hope in the blink of her eyes. Straightening her back, she tilted her head back, holding it high, her features becoming cold. Her body was still tense but it was a different kind of tension, Dean could see the determination she was feeling.

‘Okay, if you’re finished, I’ll go check on dinner,’ she stated coolly, before moving squeezing past Dean and walking from the room.

The silence, after she left, seemed to drag as Dean’s breathing slowly returned to normal and his clenched fists uncurled; his knuckles cracked as he stretched his fingers out. Taking a deep breath, Dean shoved a shaky hand through his hair, his hands trembling slightly as the excess of adrenalin and anger seemed to drain out of him. The hostile words had come pouring out of him so easily and he hadn’t been able, or wanted, to stop them. He had been furious that she was still at Bobby’s, angry that she had used herself as bait in the hunt with the vampires, angry that she had inserted herself in their lives, and even angry that she had let Dean push her around but, most of all, he was angry that she wanted to be a hunter and he couldn’t explain why that scared the hell out of him.

He hardly knew her, yet he hated the idea that she was hunting and he had no explanation as to why, so, just like everything else he that made him feel uneasy, he treated her with suspicion and distrust, and he would continue to do so until he could figure out who Hope Wesson was and why she seemed so determined to be around them.

The sound of wood scraping against wood yanked Dean from his thoughts and he turned to look at Bobby. Dean watched silently as Bobby pushed himself from his chair, his lips set in a grim line, his expression disappointed; he hated Bobby looking at him that way.

‘What?’ Dean snapped without thinking, lashing out because his self-loathing had started to bubble up again.

‘I love you, boy, but sometimes you can be a damned fool,’ Bobby said softly.

The disappointment and heartache lacing every word felt like an extra weight placed on Dean’s shoulders.

With a final shake of his head, Bobby left the room, following Hope towards the kitchen, no doubt going to comfort Hope the only way he knew how, with a bottle of cool beer and some easy conversation.

‘Bobby! Hey, man, c’mon!’ Dean called after him, but Bobby didn’t respond or turn back to see what Dean had to say for himself. Dean didn’t make a move to go after the older man, he just stood there, unmoving, the words on his lips dying off into embarrassed silence.

Dean heard the springs of the sofa creak behind him, closely followed by the soft thud of Sam’s boots hitting the floor as he took the few steps across the room. As he passed by Dean, Sam knocked his shoulder into Dean’s, causing Dean to grunt at the pain in his arm, and to stumble forward slightly from the force of Sam’s blow. Dean shot his hand out to grasp his brother’s arm and stop him from leaving. Sam turned his head slightly, glaring down at Dean over his shoulder, his eyes cold.

‘Sammy.’ His brother’s name fell from Dean’s lips as a plea, that one word holding every ounce of confusion and despair Dean was feeling, begging his younger brother to turn around and just look at him properly. Dean needed Sam to understand why he had acted as he had towards Hope, why he had to get her as far away as possible from them and out of their lives but Sam seemed unmoved. He yanked his arm free of Dean's tight grip and walked out of the room, leaving Dean behind, alone.

It wasn't until he heard the stairs had stopped creaking, and a door slammed shut upstairs, that Dean lurched forward, his hands darting out to support his weight on the edge of Bobby's desk. What was wrong with him? It seemed like all he did these days was push people away because he couldn’t trust, couldn’t give up control. Dean’s life experiences over the past six years had made him suspicious of others, he even had a hard time fully believing in those he held close to his heart: his Dad had made a deal with Azazel, Sam had chosen Ruby over him, and Bobby had made a deal with Crowley - those choices, from the people he loved most, had left Dean feeling hurt and betrayed and a little less willing to take people on face value. Dean knew that, even though Sam had his soul back, he too was more wary these days about trusting people but, if it was necessary, Sam still seemed able to look past the suspicion to give people a chance to work at earning trust.

So, here they were, him and Sam, in the middle of a hunt for Castiel and having incompatible reactions to the same potential ally, and Dean _needed_ to sort this out, he couldn't stand to have Sam so angry with him over something as meaningless as some, persistent, know-it-all, little hunter wannabe. Dean knew that if he really wanted to get Sam back on side, he had to open up to Sam and get his brother to understand why Dean was acting the way he was. Dean knew he couldn’t let this disagreement between them fester, trying to track down Castiel’s time-jumping bad guy didn’t leave them the luxury of engaging in the Winchester family’s usual method for getting things worked out between them: they had no time to let themselves spend a few days brooding, and irritating each other, before finally letting it all reach a head that led to shouting and/or punching.

Groaning, Dean pushed away from the desk and wearily made his way out of the study and up the stairs, following his brother to his room.

 

~*~

The old floorboards creaked under Dean’s boots and every step he took felt like he had concrete blocks strapped to his feet. He came to a stop outside the bedroom door furthest along the hall from the stairs and gently placed his hand on the old wooden door. He knew Sam was in there; his brother had been using the same room at Bobby’s ever since he had decided he was too old to share a room with his big brother anymore. Sam had always been a stubborn and independent kid. When they were growing up, Dean had worked out that other families were very different from his and that brothers didn’t usually live in each other’s pockets the way he and Sam did. Dean hadn’t been able to give Sam much but he had always wanted Sam to be as normal as their life allowed, even if it meant forgoing his own wants. But it had been a sad day for Dean, the day that Sam decided that it wasn't right that he always had to share a room with his big brother, when they visited Bobby, and had demanded his 'own space'. Only eleven years old but completely determined to get his own way, Dean really should have known then how much more of a handful Sam would become, but, like their father, Dean had hoped it was a phase that Sam would leave behind.

Their dad had yelled at Sam, told him he would take what he was given and damned well like it, but later that night, after John had passed out on the couch, Bobby had led Sam upstairs and given him the first room that Sam could call his own. Dean had been left behind in the bedroom that had once been his and Sammy's, missing the comforting heat of his little brother curled up against his chest and the reassurance of knowing Sam was safe. Dean hadn’t slept that night but, the next morning, like always, he had put Sam's happiness first and had ruffled the kid’s hair and smiled at Sam’s delighted reaction to finally getting the chance to sleep in his own room. After that day, Dean found himself more and more often pretending to be happy that his little brother was growing up while dreading the day their father would decide that Sam was old enough to put his years’ worth of training to good use.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Dean let his hand slide down the door until he hit metal, his fingers wrapping around the handle. Slowly, he pulled the handle down and pushed the door open.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the wall. He was staring at the faded green and gold striped wallpaper; his shoulders slumped and arms resting on his thighs. He didn't move when Dean entered the room, didn't acknowledge his brother’s presence. Dean’s stomach clenched with anxiety: Sam giving him the silent treatment meant that Dean was in more trouble than he had anticipated.

Taking a step into the small room, Dean pushed the door closed behind him with a soft click. He knew the closed door wouldn't provide that much privacy, especially if Sam worked up a head of steam and started shouting, but if he could keep Sam calm then a closed door would muffle their voices enough that Bobby, and more importantly Hope, wouldn't be able to tell exactly what they were saying. Dean stopped at the end of the bed and rubbed his calloused hand over his chin, his stubble scratching against his palm as he tried to figure out what he should say to Sam. In hindsight, he probably should have made the effort to explain himself  before Sam had even left the study. Now, he was just standing there unprepared and pretty much an easy target for Sam to shoot down with big words and logic.

Deciding to bite the bullet, Dean dropped his hand back to his side and took a cautious step forward, wary that Sam was a big guy and could still probably punch him in the face even from this distance. Not that Sam would automatically hit him - Dean was the Winchester who resorted to punching more often than Sam - well, unless Dean said something really stupid to deserve it.

‘Sam.’ Dean's quiet voice sounded strangely loud in the complete silence of Sam’s room. Dean was full-on pleading with his brother now but, still, Sam didn't acknowledge him.

Dean tried again. ‘Sammy, please. Come on, I...’

‘Don't.’ Sam's voice was cold as he cut off the beginning of Dean's plea.

Silently, Dean watched as Sam slumped forward slightly, raising a hand to run through his hair, shoving his bangs out of his eyes only to have them fall back into place when he let his hand fall back to his knee.

Dean searched his mind for another opening, another line of argument to use to make his case, but, unexpectedly, Sam was pushing himself from the bed, his expression no longer cold but angry as he moved to face Dean, pulling himself up to his full height - probably going for intimidating - but Dean was used to how tall his little brother had grown and it didn't fluster him anymore.

‘I can't believe you sometimes, Dean.’ Sam's voice was a mix of anger and hurt. ‘I mean, I’m trying hard not to take this personally, but the way you’re behaving ‘round Hope…it’s like you don’t trust my judgement anymore.’

Dean could admit to himself that, on one level, he didn't trust the change in Sam’s reactions to Hope because Sam had proven, over the years, how shit his judgment could be if something evil was wearing the face of a pretty girl. Hell, the fact that Sam had trusted Ruby for as long as he had was proof enough that he could be led astray by someone playing on his white knight feelings for women. But, for once, that demonic whore, and Sam's epic period of gullibility, didn't have anything to do with why Dean was so against his brother’s sudden change of heart regarding Hope; this was all Dean.

‘She's too young.’ Dean stated. He knew it was a weak argument given that she was only a little younger than Sam and he most definitely wasn't a kid any more.

Sam’s expression and tone showed he was unconvinced. ‘She's not that much younger than me, Dean,’ he replied.

Sam wasn’t making any attempt to disguise the irritation in his voice and Dean knew, from past experience, that this argument was a long way from being over and there was still time for Sam to really lash out at him.

Dean couldn’t stop himself from pushing at Sam. ‘So?’

Sam laughed at that, his smile bitter as he shook his head in disbelief, his hair falling around his eyes.

Anger, never far from the surface these days, once again bubbled up inside of Dean, anger that his own brother didn't seem to be able to trust Dean's instincts and that felt too much like Sam didn't trust _him_.

‘We don't know her,’ Dean pointed out. ‘Don’t know anything about her apart from what _she_ told us and who says that's anything like the truth?’ Dean’s voice was louder now and he knew it might be carrying back down the stairs but he couldn't care less.

Sam didn’t respond and the small room fell into silence. Dean watched Sam intently, his younger brother’s body was trembling with a mixture of feelings that Dean couldn't interpret, couldn't understand.

It seemed like, ever since they had first meet Hope Wesson, in that motel parking lot in Portland, Dean had been in a constant state of confusion, chasing his own shadow as he tried to figure out what was happening and why. He wasn't having much luck in working out what was going on but he was a Winchester, they weren't known for their amazing good fortune.

When Sam finally spoke his tone conveyed the impression that he thought Dean was too stupid to grasp what was going on. ‘She saved our lives,’ he said.

Dean always reacted badly to Sam’s patronising voice. ‘So’d Crowley but you're not rolling out the red carpet for him, inviting him to ride shotgun while we hunt,’ Dean snarled, his voice full of anger as he took a step forward, bringing himself closer to his brother.

Sam's eyes widened at Dean's outburst before narrowing. He looked pissed and on some level that made Dean want to gloat, glad that he could still get under his little brother’s skin so well. Ever since they were kids, Sam at his most condescending made Dean want to shove his brother over his knee, tan his ass a nice, angry shade of red, and beat the stubborn defiance out of him.

Sam huffed in disdain at Dean’s statement. ‘That's different. Crowley's a demon, Hope's...’

Sam's dismissive tone irritated Dean. ‘Hope is what, Sam?’ he interrupted, before Sam could get too far into his speech, he didn't want to give Sam a chance to try and convince him that having Hope around was the right thing to do.

Sam faltered for a second, his mind trying to supply a counter argument, but the small hesitation was all Dean needed and he grabbed the opportunity with both hands. ‘A week ago, you were sure she was a time-jumping murderer. Why the sudden change of heart?’

Sam’s reluctant silence gave Dean hope that his brother could be convinced. The brothers had switched to opposite sides of the Hope argument from where they had been the week before. Dean couldn't explain why Sam was suddenly sure that Hope was nothing other than what she said she was and it seemed Sam couldn’t explain it either. It was either that or he didn't want to mention his real reasons to Dean. As they stood glaring at each other, Dean couldn't help but wonder why Sam would want to keep his motives from him. Although, if Sam’s behaviour was influenced by his feeling physically attracted to Hope then Dean could understand why he wouldn't want to say anything. It would be like Bella and Ruby all over again and, as soon as that thought came to him, Dean felt his stomach clench and his throat closing up on him. What if Sam had changed his mind because he liked her?

As much as he feared the possibility, Dean also needed to know if it was true. He needed to know if he was losing Sam to some girl all over again. ‘Unless you got a thing for her, Sam… that would explain a hell of a lot,’ Dean's growled.

Sam was looking at Dean like he didn't know him, like Dean was the crazy one. ‘What the hell, Dean?’ Sam's protested, outrage obvious in his body language and his voice once again rising in volume.

Dean tried to stamp down on the strong jealousy he could feel welling up inside of him, tried to push the hurtful thoughts away, but Sam hadn't outright denied it - he hadn't said no. Dean dragged his palm across his face in frustration before taking a step forward. He was almost close enough to touch Sam but he kept his hands curled into tight fists at his side, knowing that if he was to touch Sam now he would probably lose all the fight left in him.

‘Come on, Sam’, he said, trying for a more light-hearted, coaxing tone but probably missing it by several miles. ‘Every girl you’ve liked in the last six years has either died or been a monster of some kind. If you did have the hots for her at least we’d know she was gonna be one of the two.’

Dean watched Sam's outrage quickly fade to hurt.

Sam turned his head to the side, looking away from Dean. It had been a low blow and Dean instantly regretted it. Sam looked disappointed and upset and Dean could see the cogs in his brother’s head turning, telling himself that he knew now what Dean really thought of him. But it wasn't true; Sam just had bad luck with women. Well, it was more like he was drawn to bad women and evil just seemed to have a constant hard-on for Sammy, making it impossible for him to actually end up with someone good for him. Even when he had ended up with a nice girl, a real nice one at that, the bad guys had been behind it all and had made sure that it didn't last long.

‘Well, I’m sorry I couldn't just be a total slut and fuck every woman who so much as looked at me,’ Sam spat at him.

The ‘like you’ part was missing but it was clear enough in the way Sam looked at him and Dean’s earlier guilt flowed through him again. Sam was right, Dean was a slut; he had proven it less than forty-eight hours ago by letting that bartender try to fuck him in a public bathroom. He had let her see the vulnerable part of him that he was only comfortable with Sam seeing.

Taking a deep breath, Dean uncurled his hands and shoved a shaky hand through his short hair as he tried to make himself calm down, clear his mind, and get back to the point he was trying to make. ‘Look, okay…I don't know how you feel abouther but there is something wrong about her Sam, and, in all honesty, it's kinda freaking me out that I didn’t see it before and that I don't know where this vibe is coming from now.’ He pitched his voice low and pleading, begging Sam to understand why this was freaking him out so much.

Sam's eyes softened and he took a step forward, closing the gap between them. He placed his hand on Dean's neck, cupping it gently and rubbing his thumb softly against Dean’s jaw and cheek. He was smiling sadly down at Dean and Dean hated it.

When Sam spoke, his voice was just as soft and it made Dean want to curl up in his brother’s tight embrace and stay there: safe and loved but above all, wanted.

‘Dean...’ Sam began.

But as Sam said his name something in Dean snapped, desperation flooding in. He needed Sam to see it his way, needed to know that Sam trusted his judgement because if he didn't it was just Dean, alone.

‘Come on, Sammy, you gotta see it man. There is something not right here,’ he urged, pleading with his brother, eyes wide and searching for any sign of belief in Sam’s face. If Dean hadn't been looking so closely he would have missed it, the shift in Sam's stance, the way his eyes darted to the side. Dean knew then that Sam felt some sort of unease about Hope but that he wasn't suspicious enough to try and drive her away.

Sighing, Sam let his hand slip from Dean's neck, taking a step back and turning away slightly. It wasn't that far, if Dean wanted he could stretch out and touch Sam, but still, it felt like a chasm between them, leaving Dean feeling cold and alone on his side. Sam shoved his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and sliding his hand back to rub at his neck before he let it fall back to his side. He wouldn't meet Dean's gaze, and he shifted so his back was to Dean. Whatever Sam was about to say, Dean knew he wasn't going to like it.

‘I think we should give her a chance,’ Sam said, quietly.

Dean's eyes widened slightly as Sam's words sank in. He felt like someone had just poured molten lead down his throat and it had turned into a cold, solid lump in his stomach.

‘And if it turns out she’s a back-stabbing bitch,’ Sam continued, ‘then we can dump her ass in the middle of nowhere.’

Dean could see it was a peace offering, of sorts, a compromise. It was a way for Sam to delve deeper into the mystery that was Hope Wesson while giving Dean the reassurance he needed that, if his gut feeling was right, Sam would be right by him in kicking her to the curb. It was a nice gesture, one Dean was glad Sam had made, but it didn't change anything.

Setting his shoulders, Dean shifted his stance so he was standing straighter, going for a confident look because he knew what he was about to say was going to make things worse again. ‘I don't trust her,’ he stated, his words sharp and to the point, full of authority and conviction.

Sam turned back to face Dean, levelling him with a hard glare. He looked pissed and Dean guessed he had a right to be. He had offered up a solution, a compromise to their problem, and Dean had just shoved it back in his face.

When Sam, spoke his voice was bitter. ‘That's your problem, Dean,’ he snarled, ‘you don't trust anyone. Hell, I'm surprised you even trust me.’

Dean flinched at the resentment in Sam’s voice. He trusted Sam as much as he could, as much as he was able to trust anyone these days. Dean loved him, loved him so much that he would die without him, but after everything they had been through and the things they had done to each other, he just couldn't let himself trust Sam one-hundred percent, not the way he used to. Dean didn’t want to feel them but there would always be doubts niggling away in the back of his mind, questioning whether Sam was telling him everything and he suspected that Sam was exactly the same when it came to trusting Dean. The recent years had taken a heavy toll on the faith they had in each other.

The silence that had fallen over the room was oppressive and Dean could see the anger fading from Sam's eyes, steadily being replaced with a mixture of pain and realisation at Dean’s lack of an immediate response.

Dean looked down at the floor before speaking; he couldn’t face the thought that Sam would react badly to what he wanted to say. ‘You’re different,’ he said, meekly.

Huffing out a bitter laugh, Sam looked at him with narrowed eyes. He looked indignant and unhappy but Dean could see the acceptance flash through his eyes like he could understand Dean's distrust, like he deserved it. ‘

Really?’ Sam asked, sounding incredulous.

Dean instantly knew he had to fix this because Sam still didn't understand. Dean trusted Sam with his life, his heart, his sanity, what he didn't trust were the people Sam seemed to attract.

Dean took a step forward. ‘You’re family,’ he said, making to reach out and grab Sam's wrist, trying to physically make him understand what he was saying without having to get to into it, but Sam moved back, his jaw set and dark angry eyes boring into his.

Letting his hand fall back to his side, Dean glared at Sam. Keeping his eyes on his brother Dean gestured angrily towards the door behind him. ‘You’re not some devil-spawn running around playing human.’ he argued, forcefully.

Both he and Sam were tense and breathing deeply, looking at the floor and refusing to look at each other. Dean knew they were seconds away from one of them throwing a punch and for what? Some girl that they didn't know; someone who wasn't important in any way. He should have made good on his threats and left her on the side of the road, it would have saved them a hell of a lot of trouble.

‘You know, I've been called a lot of things throughout my life but no-one’s _ever_ called me spawn of the Devil.’

Dean's head whipped round to face her as soon as he heard Hope's voice. She was leaning against the doorframe, door wide open. He hadn't even heard the door open, hadn't felt her presence until she had made herself known. Either his skills as a hunter were severely lacking or she was as good as she made out she was, neither one of those options were that appealing.

Hope pushed herself away from the wooden frame, her arms falling from where they had been folded over her chest so she could shove her hands into her pockets. Her shoulders were slumped forward, her head hanging down slightly so she was looking up at them through her eyelashes, her bangs had fallen in front of her face, hiding most of it from view. She looked small and fragile, totally unlike the arrogant, smug persona she has sported earlier that evening.

‘That actually hurt,’ she said, ‘a lot more than I thought it would.’ Her voice was soft and she looked dejected, like she was about to break down and cry. As much as he tried to harden his heart at the sight, Dean hated the sight of a crying woman. He felt uneasy that he had done that to her, had reduced this self-assured, cocky woman to tears. For a brief moment, he felt like apologising but he squashed down on the instinct, firmly.

‘Hope, he didn't me...’ Sam began.

‘What do you what?’ Dean interrupted, cutting Sam off, and snapping at Hope as his conflicting emotions tugged and pulled at him.

Hope turned on her heels and headed back out of the room. ‘Dinner’s ready, thought you might want to know,’ she flung over her shoulder as she walked away.

Sam and Dean stood in silence, listening as the old house’s floorboards creaked under Hope’s footsteps on the stairs. Dean’s atypical interaction with Hope had unsettled him. He didn't know what he had been expecting, a little resistance maybe or some fire in her eyes and that stubbornness that rivalled Sam’s, but that? That reaction was not on his list of things to happen. The sound of floorboards groaning beside him had Dean turning to his brother.

Sam was looking at him like he didn't know him, or didn’t much like him, and it hurt. Dean had never dealt well with rejection from his younger brother and he felt like he wanted to wrap Sam in his arms and beg for forgiveness, to say anything he could to get Sam to stop looking at him like that.

‘Sam I...’ Dean darted forward, trying to grasp his brother but once again Sam slipped away from him, moving towards the door.

‘Just don't, Dean,’ Sam replied.

Dean stood where he was, arm half-raised and stretching out towards Sam, unable to do anything other than watch as Sam walked away from him.

Stepping through the doorway, Sam gripped the doorframe, stopping just briefly to turn and look at Dean, his eyes cold and distant. ‘I can't believe you sometimes,’ he said.

Dean's hand fell back to his side as Sam disappeared from view, his footsteps hardly making a sound as he went back downstairs.

 

~*~

Dean stood for what felt like ages just staring out the open doorway, overwhelming emotion keeping him rooted to the spot. What had he done? One minute he and Sam were as close as they had been in the last few years and the next they were back to how it had been when Dean had found out about Ruby and the demon blood, and all because Dean couldn't quite get past the fact that he thought he recognised some girl and he didn’t trust her. Dean had tried, largely unsuccessfully, to tell himself that he had probably seen her in a bar, or a porno, or something along those lines and that he was blowing this all out of proportion simply because, these days, he found it difficult to believe that people told the truth the first time round.

He needed to fix this; he couldn't have Sam hating him. He’d spent a year mourning while Sam was trapped in Lucifer’s Cage, promising himself - and God, in case he was listening - that he’d make everything right with Sam again if he could just have him back. Though Dean hated to admit it out loud, he needed his brother and he didn't think he would be able to carry on without Sam in his life any more. Mind made up, and well aware that he needed to do something, Dean darted from the small room and down the stairs, skipping the last few steps and jumping to the bottom. Still holding onto the banister, Dean swung himself round and headed towards the kitchen, coming to a halt in the doorway. Three sets of eyes stared back at him, watching him as if he was a bomb about to explode.

Coughing once, to try and break the tension, Dean straightened his posture before stalking into the room, heading straight to the table, and pulling out the only available chair. As he looked at the steaming plate of spaghetti in front of him, a small grunt came from his left as Bobby averted his gaze, tucking into his own food as if nothing had happened.

Sheepishly, Dean turned to his right, hoping to catch his brother’s eyes but Sam avoided him, ignoring Dean as he concentrated on eating. Hope, unfortunately, wasn’t ignoring Dean and she stared at him intently, as though searching for something. As he looked back at her Dean watched the coldness melt from her eyes and a tentative smile tug at her lips. Despite himself, Dean felt a strong compulsion to smile back, as he began to feeling the anger and suspicion, he had felt since he had awoken to her driving his Impala, start to lessen.

Maybe Sam was right and he had been too quick to judge Hope, too quick to lash out at her when, really, he should have been asking questions. That was how he had always been; a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. Whereas Sam always managed to squeeze in a few questions, before any potential shooting, and that was why he and Sam made a good team: Sam was the planner in their two-man operation, the sensible one, well, most of the time. Dean was more inclined towards taking action and sorting out questions afterwards. They were two sides of the same coin, at their best when they were together, when they trusted one another, and Dean knew now what he had to do to make things right again with Sam.

Sam spoke, breaking Dean’s intense train of thought.

‘So you mentioned things happening at this school,’ Sam said, looking at Hope expectantly.

Hope’s turned to look at Sam as he spoke, her eyes lingering on Dean for just a moment before Sam got her full attention. Humming in acknowledgment, she quickly shoved a forkful of pasta into her mouth before she answered. ‘

Yeah, Springfield High,’ she stated. ‘Everyone who’s had something bad happen to them either attends the school or works there. Seems like a good enough place for you guys to start.’ Her eyes shifted to Dean as she said the last part, giving him a wary look before they darted back to Sam.

Dean could see Sam shooting a similarly apprehensive look at him, as if he was waiting for Dean to start yelling again. When Dean stayed quiet, Sam turned his attention back to Hope with a soft sigh. Dean could see Sam’s jaw twitch, his grip on his silverware tightening to the point that his knuckles turning white. Dean knew that Sam wanted to say something and he couldn’t take the chance that it would be biting, and bitter, and would probably hurt Dean a lot more that Sam would ever realise. Before Sam could speak, Dean bit the bullet and shoved his pride to one side, and he said the one thing that he had been adamant was never going pass his lips, ‘Well, you can check that out when we get there.’

Bobby’s gaze shot up from where he had been concentrating on his food, a look of surprise on his face, and who could blame him. To Bobby, Dean realised he must seem bipolar and, lately, Dean sure as hell felt like it; the constant shift of his emotions was going to give him whiplash if he wasn’t careful.

Sam’s head turned towards Dean, his eyes narrow with suspicion. Hope’s gaze flicked between Sam and Dean before settling on Dean, her brow creased in confusion, head tilted to the side slightly. Dean smirked inwardly; her awkward body language wouldn’t seem amiss on Castiel. Slowly, Hope started to smile, her expression brightening into excitement. Before Dean knew what was really happening, Hope was up and out of her chair, darting round the table to fling her arms around Dean’s neck, and hugging him tightly. ‘

Thank you, thank you so much,’ she said, happily, against his ear.

Shocked into inaction by the woman’s uncharacteristic behaviour, Dean shrugged her off, trying to ignore the small, pleased sensation that he felt at her happiness.

He tried to bluster his way through it. ‘Yeah, we’ll don’t get too excited,’ he groused, ‘you even think of fucking with us and I will leave your sorry ass at the side of the road.’

Nodding, Hope walked backwards from the table for a few steps before turning to head from the room and bound up the stairs as though she thought the Winchesters would leave without her if she weren’t ready to go right then and there. In that moment, Dean caught a glimpse of what Hope might have been like as a child, before her family had been killed. He felt a moment’s empathy with her, a brief connection with her over a safe childhood that hadn’t lasted.

Turning his gaze from staring at the door, Dean saw Sam looking at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Scowling, Dean squared his shoulders. ‘What?’ he snapped, impatiently.

Sam’s smile widened, raising his hands up slightly in mock surrender as he leant back in his chair. ‘Nothin’,’ he said, ‘it’s just, that’s quite a sudden change of mind there, De.’

It wasn’t a question and Dean wouldn’t treat it as one. He had only changed his mind to make Sam happy, and they both knew it, so why even bother talking about it? Picking up his fork, Dean started on his own plate, averting his eyes from Sam’s assessing gaze. ‘Whatever, bitch,’ Dean mumbled. It was the closest Dean would ever get to an apology and that was okay, he knew Sam understood.

‘Jerk,’ Sam muttered back, smile wide as he went back to eating his spaghetti. Despite his best efforts, Dean found himself smiling slightly to himself, glad that Sam had accepted his apology, even if it meant towing Hope around with them for the next few days.

Shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth, Dean groaned, chewing quickly and moving to shove more into his mouth. ‘’s good,’ Dean mumbled, around a spicy mouthful, not realising how hungry he had been until he had started to eat. The home cooked meal tasted a thousand times better than the usual crap they got when they were on the road.

‘Yeah?’ Sam asked, looked up at him curiously from beneath his eyelashes as he, much more delicately than Dean had, took a bite of his own food. Dean hummed his agreement, too busy stuffing his face to actually answer Sam’s question.

‘Hope made it,’ Sam said, grinning.

Dean’s hand froze, mouth open and fork halfway in. Glancing down at his fork Dean wondered casually, if it would make things worse again with Sam if he let the fork drop and went and threw up in the sink. Just because he had said Hope could come along on the hunt did not mean he trusted her not to poison him, especially after all he’d done to her lately.

Sam was laughing at him; Dean could see his brother’s shoulders shaking as he tried to hide it.

‘She made apple pie as well,’ Sam added, smugly.

On the other hand, the food did taste really good and everyone else had eaten it, Hope included, and they all seemed fine. Shrugging, Dean shoved more pasta into his mouth. If the last few hours were anything to go by, then the next few days were going to be emotionally and physically draining. The fact that he would have to spend at least thirteen hours trapped in the Impala with Hope made it official, the universe hated him.

~*~

The faint sound of her last few footsteps tailed off, as Hope gave into her excitement and thought herself into the small room she had claimed as her own, with nothing more than the faint sound of feathers ruffling giving away her impatience. Smiling brightly, Hope darted over to reach under the bed to pull out her old duffle before scurrying round to the other side of the room. She yanked impatiently at the small set of drawers and pulled out the few clothes she had brought with her.

She couldn’t believe Dean had agreed to take her along. Well, really, that was a lie. She had known he would, eventually. She had just thought it would take a lot more prodding from her. During the last few hours, she had been able to hear his thoughts, so loud and demanding, making it hard to concentrate. The strength of the warring emotions that drove him to lash out in his confusion, as he tried to figure out what to make of her and how he knew her, had been exhausting for her to manage and experience.

If she could, if she thought he wouldn’t refuse to believe her, Hope would explain everything to him, and tell him how he knew her. But, as much as she would like to tell him, she couldn’t take the chance on the consequences it might have on the future. And sure, she was here trying to change the future but there were some events that were predetermined; they had to happen and they had to happen the way they were always meant to. Changing them could make the world she had left even worse than it already was and she just couldn’t let that happen.

Zipping her bag closed, Hope bent down to pull her weapons duffle out from under the bed, the contents clattering together as she dropped it on the bed. Pulling it open, she rifled through it, making sure that everything that should be there was. She knew she was missing the demon blade, which was taped under the dresser for safety, and her dad’s Colt 1911, which she kept under her pillow. She wasn’t expecting trouble on this hunt but if her life had taught her anything, it was to expect the unexpected. Well, that and also that the mere mention of the Winchester name seemed to attract trouble but hey, the two kind of went hand in hand.

Hope pulled her hands out of the bag, ready to zip it shut and mojo the missing weaponry into it when they were getting set to leave, but, as she moved, a flash of something silver and glowing caught her eyes. Frowning, Hope slowly started to move the assortment of weapons and ammo boxes out of the way, keeping her gaze locked on the strange object that seemed to be shimmering and glowing in the dark corner of the bag. Narrowing her eyes, Hope pushed the remaining items out of the way and lifted the object towards her.

As soon as her fingers wrapped around the cool metal, it seemed to solidify and the glowing increased to make the surrounding room appear darker. Eyes wide with surprise, Hope jerked back, pulling the angel-blade with her, the sharp edges of the blade digging into her palm. As if she had been burned, Hope dropped the blade onto the bed, her hands shaking as she grabbed the duffel and flipped it over, the contents clattering as she shook them out onto the bed. Her heart was pounding in her chest, panic humming through her veins, as she threw the empty bag over her shoulder and started to rummage through the assortment of guns, blades, and ammo that now covered the bed. This couldn’t be happening, the blade couldn’t be acting up like this. Its owner was dead, and his body was a long way away, so why the blade suddenly decided to start calling out as if he was near was a mystery to her.

Spreading everything out across the quilted bedcover, Hope breathed a sigh of relief as she finally found the long, mahogany box she had been so frantically searching for. Laughing gently, and a little worriedly, if she was being honest with herself, her fingers absentmindedly ran across the Enochian symbols and sigils that had been burned into the wood to protect its contents from all who would seek it. She flipped the golden clasp open with deft fingers, her power humming around her as the spells placed on the box reacted to her touch. Slowly, she opened the lid, nervously hoping that she would find everything still in its right place. If it was then, she was screwed because that would mean she had taken an angel blade from the pompous feather-head she had killed back in Salt Lake City, and she had no memory of doing that. Things weren’t good if she was starting to zone out or forget things that she really, _really_ should be remembering. She needed to find someone, maybe a witch, and get some kind of magical remedy because she couldn’t be losing it, not now - well, not yet any way.

Her shoulders sagged in relief, and she fell to her knees with a dull thud, as she found the box empty, the emerald-velvet lining the only thing inside. Groaning, Hope let her head fall forward, resting it against the bed as she gently placed the box on the floor next to her. How the damned thing had gotten out of its box was beyond her but, considering it had once belonged to Gabriel, nothing really surprised her. The little shit had probably enchanted it to come and go as it pleased, adding the glow as a bit of theatre to remind her that, at least partly, he was still with her.

Reflexively, Hope’s fingers curled around the warm metal of the hilt as the sword appeared in her hand, answering her silent call. She dragged the blade up, until just the tip was resting against the floor and her hand rested on the base of the hilt. She stared at the blade as she began to twirl it slightly, the light bouncing off the blade and sparkling like a diamond under the sun; the instinctive action soothing her mind. Maybe it had just been her, maybe she was just missing him so much that her subconscious was reaching out to the only thing of his she had. If that was the case, then her subconscious could pack it in right this moment. She didn’t need to become more suspicious in the eyes of the Winchesters and the appearance of an angel blade, every time she so much as thought about the archangel, would earn her a one-way ticket back down to Bobby’s panic room and she doubted that the next time she would be treated as well as she had been the last time round.

Hope sighed and used her free hand to pull the mahogany box towards her, moving to put the sword back into it storage place. As her fingers brushed against the velvet, a wave of bone-shattering pain and blinding, white light slammed into her, knocking the breath out of her like a baseball bat to the chest. Screwing her eyes shut, Hope slumped forward, gasping in agony, the blade clattering to the floor as her hand shot up to push against her temple. The fingernails of her free hand scratched at the floor she was assaulted with images of the brothers running through a darkened corridor, Sam screaming out Dean’s name, gunfire echoing around her skull, the walls of some unknown place painted red as the smell of blood filled the air around her. Someone was laughing, Dean was crying, and Sam lay bloody and dead on a dirty floor. There was so much pain and anger as that manic laughter echoed around her mind, taunting her, and sending chills down her spine and considering she was running a little on the cold side now, that was definitely something.

As quickly as the vision had started, it was gone, disappearing as if someone had flipped a switch. When she finally managed to focus again, Hope found herself on her back, sprawled out across the floor, her chest heaving as she breathed deeply, gulping down air as if she hadn’t taken a breath since the vision had first slammed into her. Hope pushed herself up from the floor, shoving a shaky hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face, trying to regain some resemblance of composure. She supposed she should be grateful that this had happened so soon after she had drained a demon, it hardly hurt. If it had been otherwise than she would probably still be rolling around on the floor, screaming in agony, as she tried to see the events unfolding behind her eyelids, through the feeling of her blood boiling and being stabbed a thousand times over.

As Hope pushed herself up off the floor, she grabbed blindly for the angel blade and its case. Once she was on her feet again, she clicked her fingers, watching as the weapons that had been scattered across the bed vanished and reappeared in the empty duffel, that she had thrown on the floor, now lined up neatly next to her other bag at the end of the bed. Shoving the weapon back into its box, Hope slammed the lid shut, her magic weaving around the box, and sealing it shut against anyone’s touch but her own, before she willed it back into the bag. As she did this, her mind raced with everything she had just seen, trying to pick out important details and paint a coherent picture of what was waiting for her and the Winchesters in Springfield.

There had been a young girl, hair as red as fire, standing in front of a sign for Springfield High, her white shirt splattered with blood, that Hope had known was Sam’s, laughing manically. There had been so much blood and Dean had been covered in the stuff as he knelt by Sam’s dead body, crying his broken heart out.

Death was waiting for them in Springfield.

Leaning forward, Hope shoved her hand under the pillow and pulled the Colt out, the weight comfortable and familiar as her fingers wrapped around the pearl-handled grip. Holding it out in front of her, Hope pulled the magazine out, checking that it was full before she slipped it back into place and clicked the safety off. Hope smiled as she took one last look around the room, her eyes alight with excitement. At least now she knew what was coming and how to use the upcoming tragic events to her advantage.

 


	16. The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated writing this chapter, just so you know. As always I own nothing to do with Supernatural through after this chapter i wish I had Gabriel to give me a massage. As always thank you to Ciar for being my beta and fixing this. Well i hope you enjoy it more than i did writing it.

Staring down into the black, swirling vortex of her approaching destiny, she tried to will herself to move, to take that final step forward and get it over and done with already, before they found her. Before Hell itself rained down upon her and ruined her careful planning, well, her hazardously-thrown-together-as-she-ran-for-her-life plan. She knew what she was doing was wrong, undoing the sacrifices people had made all those years ago, but it was the only way she could think of to stop the madness and to save this world. It was all just a big, jumbled mess of wrong and she knew that if she succeeded she would only be replacing one evil with a slightly lesser evil but it was still worth it to take the risk. Even if it meant handing her body over to an archangel that didn’t deserve to see the light of day ever again. But she was desperate and desperate people often make mistakes in the hopes of finding the elusive miracle that could save their sorry asses.

This was all just one big blunder, a stupid, dangerous mistake, but she refused to believe that committing genocide, slaughtering the man she loved, and having her soul ripped out was the only way to make the world right again. She wouldn’t do it; she just couldn’t do it. She was convinced that there had to be another way, one where she wouldn’t have his blood on her hands, and she was damned well going to find it. Even if she had to go to Hell and back to get it, it would all be worth it in the end.

Screwing her eyes shut, she clenched her hands into tight fists at her side, her body shaking as she choked on a frightened, strangled sob. Hot tears slid down her dirt-covered face, leaving small tracks in the filth that clung to her like a second skin. This really wasn’t fair but then again nothing about her life had ever been fair. Sixteen years old and she already had the weight of the world on her shoulders, with everyone waiting for her to do something to save their ungrateful, pathetic asses no matter what it would cost her to do it. No one truly cared what happened to her as long as she saved them; to them it was all that mattered, it was all she was good for.

‘I wouldn’t do that, if I was you.’

Snapping her head round, she looked behind her at the familiar face of the man she hated most in this broken world; her supposed destiny. He looked so smug, as he leaned against the one tree that had somehow managed to survive the blistering heat and rains of fire that ravaged this part of the world in the last few years. The once beautiful, green-leafed tree was long since dead, parts of it burnt and crumbling, but still it stood, tall and proud, its bare branches reaching up to the blood-red sky. Not towards the heavens; Heaven wasn’t there anymore.

His eyes sparkled, as he smiled menacingly at her, his mousy-brown hair stuck up at odd angles as if he had just rolled out of bed. He was handsome, tall, and muscular and his full lips curved up into an inviting smile. He was the perfect-looking guy, everything a young girl like her should want, but it was all just pretty packaging to hide the horror within. It was his eyes that showed him as the monster he truly was; his storm-blue eyes were hard and cold. They were so much like ice that she felt a cold shiver run down her spine, despite that the fact that the temperature never got any lower than 100 these days. She had heard the saying, a few times when she was younger and back when people still remembered the way things had used to be, that the eyes were the windows to the soul. If that was true, then she should be scared because his eyes were cruel and menacing and held the promise of so much pain and torment that it was enough to make her want to end it all, to slit her own throat and get out before it was too late. Not that he would allow her to stay dead long.

But, sadly, fantasies of escape were all she could indulge in. She had a job to do, a supposed destiny to fill, and everyone was waiting on her, pushing and shoving, begging her to _do_ something and she couldn’t just leave them all to die.

No, that was a lie. She knew she could quite happily stand by and watch every last person on the planet bleed to death, choking on their own blood and floundering on the floor as they gasped for breath, but _he_ had asked this of her and she had never been able to deny the once-proud and powerful angel; she could never turn her back on him. She knew that she really would do anything for him, even if it meant giving up her sanity, her soul, or what there was of her humanity. She would do it all for him, her angel.

‘They’re not worth it, you know. And _he’s_ definitelynot worth it.’

Sighing at the taunting tone of the young man’s voice, she turned back to the gaping, black hole before her.

‘Get lost, Jude,’ she flung back at him.

She knew she sounded like a petulant child, pouting because she wasn’t getting her own way. And the fact that she was on a first-name basis with him just made her feel sick. It also said something about how well he knew her, that he had known she would be here in Stull Cemetery. The place where it had ended, all those years ago, was where she would start it all over again. Her parents would be so proud of her.

‘You know that’s not going to work, sweetheart,’ he replied, his velvet voice filling the air around her.

Despite knowing better, she couldn’t help but turn and watch as he gracefully pushed himself away from the dead tree and, slowly, made his way towards her, weaving in and out of the old and crumbling headstones. He looked every inch the predator stalking its prey with  deadly intent in its eyes. He was truly stunning. Scowling, she shoved her traitorous thoughts to the back of her mind. She would gouge out her own eyes before she ever gave into him.

‘I’m not your sweetheart,’ she spat out, glaring at him and wishing he was closer so she could try to punch that smug smile off his pretty-boy face. She couldn’t really do him much harm but it sure as hell would make her feel better. ‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘I’m not your anything and I never will be, ever.’ Her fists were clenched at her sides, fingernails digging into her palms, as the distant sound of thunder rumbled through the cloudless sky, the empty threat of a storm that would never come. It hadn’t rained for well over five years and the last time the heavens had opened it had poured with the blood of a thousand angels as they were massacred at the hands of the very man that stood before her.

_Hope._

His smirk fell, being replaced with a soft smile, his ice-blue eyes filling with a well-practiced imitation of love and understanding. ‘Come on, M, we’ve been over this a thousand times before.’ His voice was soft and, despite knowing that it was all an act, she felt herself relaxing, his familiar presence calming her in a way that only Castiel had ever managed. As if he could sense her moment of weakness, Judas took the last remaining step forward, he was close enough now that she could feel his breath against her face. Slowly, he raised his right hand to gently cup her cheek, his thumb softly stroking her dirt-covered skin as his other hand curled around her forearm. Though his grip was gentle she could feel the power humming underneath his skin and the unspoken threat hanging in the air should she try to run.

‘Come home,’ he said softly. ‘We were meant to rule this world, together. Side by side we could rebuild the world in our image, learn from our forefathers’ mistakes and make humanity great once more. We’re the new Adam and Eve, M. This is our destiny.’

Temptation, the root of all evil, and his words were very, very tempting. A lesser person would swoon at being offered a place at his side, a chance to rule the world, but she knew better than to believe his empty words. He didn’t love her, he only wanted the power she possessed. She had heard the prophecies and she knew what was waiting for her, and this world, if she gave in and said, ‘yes’. And knowing all of this, the temptation was still there, pulling at her, even though he had killed her family and brought Hell to Earth. She was just so tired; tired of constantly being on the run, of fighting for survival nearly every day. She was tired of always being angry about the hand life had dealt her. It would be so simple to give into him, and she knew that her life would be much easier if she did, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do that to Castiel. He had sacrificed just as much as she had, to keep her alive and safe, fulfilling her father’s last request as best as he could, doing things that broke his heart and filled him with disgust just to make sure she was strong enough to resist the devil that stood before her. It was because of these sacrifices that she was here.

Castiel had done so much for her and she loved him for it, he was her small slice of heaven amongst the hell her life had become and she couldn’t stand by and let him sacrifice the one thing he had left to give, just so she could carry on the fight. His life meant too much to her to allow it.

_Hope_

Unfortunately, Judas knew her well, knew what it would truly take to win her over and, even though he hated the angel and truly detested the idea of letting Castiel live, he would, if it meant he got her.

‘I’ll even let you keep your pet angel,’ he whispered, ‘though, considering how long he’s been cut off from the Host, I’m going to guess he’s not quite so heavenly anymore.’

She bristled at his calling Castiel a pet, hating the term that most now used to describe the angel.

Judas sounded so smug, seemingly unable to stop himself from boasting that he was powerful enough to not only close the gates of Heaven but to burn it from the sky as well.

It had been a sight to behold, the dark sky alight with clouds of fire, thousands of angels falling to Earth like shooting stars. That had been the last time she had seen a blue sky; by the time it was over, the sky had been stained red with their blood. She had been unable to do anything but stand and watch the final act of war, clinging to Castiel like the frightened child she was, watching the last defence, against the evil that had befallen the world, being decimated before their eyes. Castiel had cried that night, the first and only time she had seen him shed tears, and it had been heart breaking to watch.

‘Please,’ Judas whispered, ‘please.’

His voice pulled her from her memories in time to notice what he was doing. Her eyes fluttered closed when his lips brushed against hers in a gentle kiss, melting into him as if it was her first. She knew the moment he thought he had won, she could feel him smiling against her lips. It made her sick that he thought her that easy.

_Hope._

Pulling back, she smiled softly up at him. Slowly, she brought her right hand up, resting it over the middle of his chest.

‘Judas,’ she purred seductively.

He was smiling triumphantly down at her, she could feel the arrogance radiating off of him. Oh gods, she hated him, she could feel her skin crawling where he touched her.

‘You know, you almost had me,’ she whispered gently, ‘…almost’. Her sweet smile turned wicked as confusion flickered behind Judas’s cold eyes. Pushing more firmly against his chest, she watched with satisfaction as her power slammed into him and sent him hurtling back through the air.

He slammed into the tree, that he had been leaning against just moments before, with a deafening crack as the petrified trunk split in two from the force with which he had hit it. With a pained groan, he slid down to land in a heap on the ground, his head lolling to the side and face scrunched up in pain. That felt good, he deserved it.

‘You’re a good salesman,’ she flung at him, ‘it’s no wonder you have every supernatural freak and monstrosity eating out of the palm of your hand.’

It was true. When he had risen to power, he had done it with an army behind him, consisting of every monster and evil you could think of and then some. Humanity hadn’t stood a chance.

‘I don’t have you.’ His groggy voice floated across the graveyard, his words affecting her like a physical blow. The word ‘monster’ unspoken but still there, echoing around her mind, reminding her of what she really was.

‘Funny,’ she responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she scowled at him.

Laughing gently to himself, Judas winced slightly as he pushed himself up, slowly pulling himself to his feet.

‘My dad would be proud,’ he said.

He was recovering too quickly, almost back to his normal self. She was running out of time. Turning back to the pit, she let out a shaky breath. It was now or never, and she couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Turning her head slightly, she shouted back over her shoulder to Judas, never taking her eyes off what lay in front of her.

‘I’ll make sure to tell him when I see him,’ she answered.

With that, she flung herself into the swirling, black vortex that would take her to the one place no one should ever willingly go. She barely heard Judas as he called out her name.

As the darkness consumed her, the pained screams of the few tortured souls that still remained in Hell filling the silence, as she spared a thought for Castiel. She prayed to an absent God that He would spare just a moment to watch over one of His few remaining children and keep him safe in her absence. Castiel needed to survive, she needed him to survive or all this would be for nothing.

_Hope_ _!_

~*~

Sam hissed in pain as Hope jerked awake suddenly, her hand darting out to grab at his wrist, twisting it as she attempted to defend herself against an unknown threat. Her hand felt cold against his skin, like a band of ice had been wrapped around his wrist, which struck Sam as strange because Dean had had the heating on all the way, making it so hot in the car that Sam had been forced to shed his jacket. Sam realised he should have known better than to wake her by shaking her; Dean was the same if someone startled him awake, always reaching for his gun or his knife. But Dean had adamantly refused to leave Hope alone in his precious car: he didn’t trust her not to drive off with it.

‘Hey,’ Sam said gently, trying to smile through the pain shooting up his arm as Hope’s grip tightened on his already-bruised wrist.

She turned to blink up at him, brows creased and head tilted to the side. ‘Sam,’ she whispered. She wasn’t asking if it was him, it was more like she was trying to convince herself that it was him, that he was real.

Nodding his head, Sam gave her what he hoped was an easy, reassuring smile, the one he would normally use to placate jittery witnesses. He watched silently as Hope blinked a few times, features smoothing out and the confusion fading. Hope’s gaze fell to where her hand was wrapped around his wrist and her eyes widened in horror before she let go as if he had burned her and pushed herself back against the leather seat.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, rubbing at the back of her neck as she sheepishly looked out the car window, eyes darting around the motel car park.

Sam could see she was surveying the area, looking for potential avenues of attack and, more importantly, the potential escape routes. Dean had done the same thing when they pulled into the parking area and, thankfully, his big brother had deemed it good enough because Sam really didn’t want to spend any longer in the car than necessary. His legs were cramped and his knees were starting to protest at being bent at the same awkward angle for so long.

‘We here?’ Hope didn’t bother to turn and look at him as she spoke, her gaze fixed on Dean as he strode back towards them, still looking as pissed off as he had been when he got out of the car.

Sam ran a shaky hand through his hair, a mumbled ‘yeah’ falling from his lips as Dean walked back towards the car, straight past the driver’s door, and to the trunk, yanking it open.

Hope turned back to Sam, and offered up a small smile, before she pushed open the car door and slipped off the back seat, shutting the door again as gently as possible. Her hand lingered on the glass, palm pressed flat and fingers spread wide. Her head was tilted down, eyes closed, and a sad look on her face. To Sam, she looked like she was saying goodbye to an old friend and not just getting out of a car. But before Sam could move to get out of the car and ask what was wrong, Hope was gone, moving round to the back of the vehicle and disappearing from sight. 

Despite his aching legs, Sam sat and stared at the empty backseat for a few minutes, as he listened to Dean rummaging around in the trunk, his brother’s voice nothing more than a murmur as he spoke to Hope. The drive to Springfield had been a tense one, with Dean paying more attention to Hope than the road at times; watching her in the rear-view mirror, suspicious of every move she made. It had left Sam feeling nervous. But Hope didn’t even bat an eyelid, not even when she looked up and caught Dean’s gaze in the mirror. She had just smiled knowingly at him until Dean had returned his gaze back to its rightful place, the road, and she had gone back to her book, her pen moving quickly over the pages.

With a soft sigh, Sam twisted back around and opened his own door, his shoulder protesting as he pushed the heavy door open. He had to start being more careful or else he was going to pull his stitches and he just wasn’t in the mood to deal with Dean bitching as he stitched Sam’s shoulder back up. Shoving the car door closed with his other hand, Sam made his own way around to the trunk, ready to send Dean over to their room if he was once again being nasty to the young woman who had saved their asses.

‘Who’s Jude?’ Dean’s gruff voice floated around the side of the car, blunt and to the point, the question sounding more like an accusation than anything else.

Sam rounded the back of the car, hoping to prevent the two from starting up another argument, something that had happened every time one of them had opened their mouth in the car.

Dean was bent over, rummaging through the trunk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Hope was staring at him with wide panic-filled eyes, frozen with her bag half way up her arm.

‘What?’ she choked out, looking very much like someone had just punched her in the gut and then run over her puppy.

Taking pity on the obviously panicking women, Sam answered her, before Dean could say something rude and unneeded, ‘You drifted off for a while, during the drive, and you were talking in your sleep.’ It was a simple answer and the truth at that.

She had been quietly mumbling all sorts of things that neither of them could really understand and, at one point, Sam thought he heard her say ‘Castiel’, but he couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure, and he didn’t understand how she would know that name anyway (Castiel being one of Heaven’s minor angels and not as well known as the big guns). The one thing both of the Winchesters had been able to make out, the one thing she had said clearly, was ‘Jude’.

Hope turned as Sam spoke, watching him as he moved to stand next to his brother and held out his hand as Dean passed over his bag.

‘Oh,’ she murmured, as she swung her bag over her shoulder, looking down at the ground in front of her, eyes glazed over, and Sam knew that they had lost her. So lost in her own little world she didn’t hear Dean’s annoyed sigh.

‘So, who’s Jude?’ Dean asked, his annoyance clear in his voice as he pulled his own bag out and swung it over his shoulder while he slammed the trunk shut.

Sighing, Sam turned to glare at his brother. Dean could charm everyone and anyone, after all he was a natural flirt and, even though Sam would never admit it, Dean’s handsome smile had gotten them out of a tight spot or two over the years. Yet now, Dean seemed completely incapable of being anything but hostile towards Hope.

Lifting her head, Hope smiled grimly at them. Turning, she started to make her way over to the far end of the motel, heading to the rooms that were furthest from the office. ‘Ex-boyfriend,’ she yelled over her shoulder, ignoring Dean’s indignant grunt.

Sam shook his head and started after her, assuming they had a room next to hers as Dean didn’t seem like he was going to let her that far out of his sight. As long as they weren’t all sharing a room, or as long as Dean didn’t think he was sharing a room with Hope, Sam didn’t care. And if Dean did think he was going to get Sam to sign up to 24/7 surveillance of Hope, there would be hell to pay.

Dean begrudgingly followed after him, quickly catching up to them as they neared their rooms.

‘What happened to him?’ Dean asked, as they came to a stop in front of the faded, red door, second from the end.

Without looking at them, Hope shoved her key into the lock, opening the door and shoving it farther open with an unnecessarily hard push. As she walked through the door she turned to look at Dean, her expression full of anger as she glared at him.

‘That’s none of your damned business,’ she said coldly, before slamming the door shut and cutting off whatever Dean had been about to say.

Dean lifted his fist, making to pound on the door, probably to demand an answer, so Sam quickly darted his own hand out to stop him, hissing as the movement jarred his wounded shoulder. His fingers wrapped tightly around Dean’s wrist, only just managing to stop Dean from slamming his fist into the flimsy-looking door. Turning, Dean glared up at Sam and Sam just stared back, raising an eyebrow expectantly as he waited for his brother to start acting like himself and less like their father had when Sam had managed to piss him off, which, thinking about it was nearly all the time.

Eventually, Dean let out an annoyed huff and his hand fell back down to his side, fingers uncurling. Sam didn’t let go of his brother’s wrist, he just loosened his grip and stroked his thumb gently over Dean’s pulse point, hoping the simple action would calm him. Dean quickly darted his gaze down to where Sam had hold of him, before glancing around the car park to settle on the reception office, watching a young couple scurry inside, looking far too nervous to be here for an innocent reason

Dean rolled his shoulders and yanked his arm free of Sam’s grasp before stalking towards their room, the one right on the end just like Dean preferred. Sam let out a frustrated breath as he followed after his brother, trying to ignore the sting of pain in his heart. Sam understood that Dean felt guilty about what they had been doing with each other for the last few months and that he worried about what would happen to Sam if anyone found out about them. Sam was even thankful that his brother cared so much about him that he tried to protect him from every possible form of evil, including bigoted idiots, but sometimes Sam wished that Dean would throw caution to the wind and just grab him in the middle of the street and kiss him or, less dramatically, hold his hand over the table as they ate in whatever shitty diner they found themselves in. Sam knew Dean loved him but sometimes he wished that Dean would show it somewhere other than the front seat, or even the back seat, of the Impala or behind the closed and locked door of a motel room. Sam craved the physical things he and Dean did with each other but he also wanted a real relationship and he knew that was something his brother had never done that well in the past.

By the time Sam had taken the few steps from Hope’s closed door to theirs, Dean already had it open and was making his way inside, not even bothering to check if Sam was behind him, just leaving the door wide open. Once he was inside, Sam closed the door with a soft click, his eyes sweeping across the small room on automatic. It was the same as almost every other motel room he had found himself in over the years: crappy TV shoved up against the wall, looking like it was a survivor from the 80s; the room’s décor was pretty much along the same retro theme, the walls covered in black swirls against a cream background, the floor was supposed to be hardwood but looked and felt more like linoleum. It was the two queen beds that got Sam, hitting him square in the chest. They hadn’t slept in separate beds for the last five months so why Dean insisted on getting two queens tonight was beyond him.

Dean didn’t seem to notice that Sam had stopped just inside the room, instead he dumped his bags on the bed nearest the door, shedding his coat as he made his way into the bathroom, chucking it behind him. He had been aiming for the bed but it fell short and landed in a heap on the floor.

Sam took the few steps forward, bending down to grab the discarded jacket, the soft snick of a lock catching signalling to him that Dean had shut himself in the bathroom. The only way they knew how to get any sort of privacy without actually leaving the other behind. His big brother had been acting weird for the last few days and Sam was starting to worry that something had happened that Dean hadn’t told him about. Dumping his own bag and Dean’s jacket on the bed, Sam moved to sit on the end of the other bed, staring at the bathroom door as if it held all the answers.

He knew Dean was bothered by Hope but what he didn’t know was why. Sure, there was something about Hope that was rubbing Dean the wrong way, it didn’t help that the two of them were a lot alike in personality and taste. And, sure, Sam could understand that Dean didn’t completely trust her; Sam didn’t fully trust her either, based on what she may have done to Tad Anderson. Plus it seemed very much like she had something planned because she had been too insistent about coming with them on this hunt but, unlike his brother, Sam could keep his suspicion under control long enough to, hopefully, find out the truth. Dean, on the other hand, seemed to be all over the place, one minute he was yelling and shouting, angrier than Sam had seen him since the apocalypse, and then the next moment he was back to being more like his normal self, being an arrogant jerk at times but no more than usual.

Sam hoped that all Dean needed was a moment to relax, some time to forget about everything else that was going on in their lives and let Sam take care of him for once. Making his mind up quickly, Sam got off the bed and headed back over to the door. Grabbing the key for the room off the small table that stood next to the door, Sam quickly scribbled down where he was going on the motel stationary, folding the paper in half and writing Dean’s name on the front in big letters so his brother wouldn’t miss it, before propping it up against the wall, right behind the keys for the impala.

Satisfied that Dean wouldn’t be able to miss the note no matter what, Sam yanked the door open and slipped outside into the early afternoon sun, not bothering to be quiet when he shut the door, knowing that the sound would get Dean’s attention and he would be out of the bathroom soon enough. Sam chanced a quick look at the next door along and wondered if he should maybe go talk to Hope. Dean had obviously hit a nerve talking about Jude, whoever he was, and it was clear to see she had some serious anger towards the guy or the circumstances that surrounded their breakup. He could apologise for his brother’s insensitivity and see if that would lead Hope to talk about herself, maybe giving him something more to go on in trying to determine her motives.

Shaking his head, Sam pushed Hope to the back of his mind. She wasn’t his most pressing problem, not at the moment any way, and it wasn’t like she would be going anywhere, not unless she was going to walk or hijack another car. Sam fished the spare set of keys from his jeans’ pocket, unlocked the Impala, and slipped in behind the wheel. Turning the key in the ignition, he listened as the engine roared to life, the sound as familiar to him as his brother’s voice. The driver’s seat was as far back as it would go, so Sam took a moment to reposition the rear-view and wing mirrors, smiling slightly because he knew that when Dean got back in the car he would grumble at having to put them back the way he usually had them. Dean was lucky that was all Sam was messing with because the constant temptation to hide Dean’s tapes was only just contained. As Sam glanced in the wing mirror again, what he saw was enough to push every other thought from his mind; his eyes locked on to the young woman standing outside a room a couple of doors down from theirs.

Sam watched as Hope played with her long hair and smiled seductively at the man standing in front of her. He looked at least twice her age, hair greying around the edges, and Sam could clearly see he was wearing an ill-fitting suit that hung off his shoulders but was too tight around his stomach. The man, who was probably more than old enough to be her father, ran a hand down Hope’s arm, stroking the leather of her jacket. Hope didn’t seem to mind the attention but Sam felt a strong sense of revulsion, he was almost ready to get out of the car and march over to tell the old guy to back the hell off while shoving Hope back to her room.

Sam watched in disgust as Hope slid even closer to the man, her hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. Sam could see her smiling seductively as she leant forward to whisper into the man’s ear. When she pulled back, the man’s neck and face was flushed and he was nodding furiously, his hair flopping around. Without taking his eyes of Hope’s chest, he slipped his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, waving it around slightly. Just as he was about to flip it open, Hope darted her hand out, curling her fingers around the hand that held the wallet and stopped him, her smile so clearly fake now that Sam found it hard to believe that his guy couldn’t see it.

Hope moved to glance around the motel and its parking lot, making note of everyone who could have possibly seen the display just moments ago, and Sam was sure that her eyes met his in the wing mirror, holding his gaze for a second before moving on. The man looked confused as she shook her head, her smile sweet as she jerked her head in the direction of the door behind them. Sam could do nothing more than watch as Hope’s mark fumbled to get the key in the lock, shoving the door open so Hope could slip inside, tugging him in behind her by his tie.

The door closed behind them but still Sam stared, hands frozen in place on the steering wheel. He couldn’t bring himself to believe what he had just seen, it couldn’t have been right, could it? There had to be some kind of reason why she would do this because, though he didn’t know her, he couldn’t imagine she was hooking to pay her way as a hunter.  

Sam grasped the wheel tightly; if he did anything now it would just cause a scene, making him seem like a jealous boyfriend, or even her pimp, and that would just piss Dean off even more. Not to mention that Hope would probably end up getting arrested, though that really didn’t seem as bad as the whole prostitution thing. No, it could wait until later, when she was back in her own room and he had time to think about what he was going to say to her other than the whole yelling at her for being stupid and irresponsible and demanding to know why she would put herself in danger like that. Shoving his anger to the back of his mind, Sam threw the car into drive and headed out of the parking lot, heading towards the town, trying to force his mind to focus only on the things he needed to buy and not on the sight of Hope disappearing into a darkened room with some guy trailing after her like a lost puppy.

~*~

By the time Sam made it back to the motel he had managed to get past the shocked daze in which he had spent most of his drive into town, his anger having faded to irritation as he tried to figure out why Hope thought letting guys pay her for sex was a good idea. He hadn’t done too well with that. But now his mind was clear, enough, and he was ready to try spoiling Dean the only way he knew how: with relatively good beer, the most sugar-laden dessert he had been able to find in a run-down convenience store, and promises of ‘whatever you want, Dean’ on the tip of his tongue.

Shouldering the door open, Sam’s gaze found his brother quickly: Dean was sitting on Sam’s bed - well, hopefully, _their_ bed - leaning back against the headboard, eyes fixed on the small TV opposite, remote in his left hand, and absentmindedly flicking through the channels. His other hand was shoved down the front of his jeans, thumb hitched over the waistband to stop his hand from disappearing completely, scratching at his crotch. It was safe to say that Dean wasn’t presenting the most elegant display but Sam found himself not really caring that much, his eyes dragging appreciatively over his brother’s body instead.

Sam kicked the door the rest of the way open, and dumped the bag of groceries on the table next to him. There wasn’t a fridge in the room so Sam had made sure to bring the cooler in from the car so at least the last few bottles would be a little on the cool side instead of room temperature: Dean hated warm beer.

Gingerly, Sam shrugged off his jacket, wincing slightly as his injured shoulder protested the movement. He should probably get Dean to have a look at it, make sure all the stitches were okay, change the bandage etc. because Sam couldn’t afford for the thing to get infected.

Sam flung his jacket onto the unoccupied bed and glanced up at his brother, still expecting to find him focused on whatever crap he had found to watch. As long as it wasn’t Oprah or Dr Sexy MD then Sam was usually fine with whatever his brother watched, well almost; he didn’t really like his brother’s taste in porn. Dean, however, wasn’t watching the television he was staring at Sam, his green eyes tracking every move Sam was making. Sam felt like an animal at the zoo and Dean was the little kid pressed up against the glass, getting his fill of the strange animal on the other side. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling but that didn’t mean Sam liked it, he had just grown to accept it over the years.

Sam turned back to the table, deciding to skip the food, and pulled out two bottles of beer before turning back to his brother. Dean visibly perked up as he caught sight of the beer in Sam’s hand, sitting up straighter his hand slipped free of his jeans and he threw the remote to the end of the bed. Smiling, Sam offered Dean one of the bottles, using his grip on the bottle’s neck to tilt it out towards him. Dean’s hand shot out and yanked the beer out of Sam’s hold.

‘Thanks, man,’ Dean mumbled, as he sank back onto the bed, twisting the bottlecap off and chucking it onto the small table that sat between the two beds.

Opening his own bottle, Sam sank down onto the end of the bed, facing the door. He could hear Dean take a long gulp from the bottle, probably downing half in one go. Dean had issues with alcohol, Sam knew that, but most hunters did. Alcohol was an easily available way to cope with what they saw on a regular basis. And, as long as Dean’s drinking didn’t start to interfere with their work, or get too bad, or too much like their father’s drinking, Sam could live with it. He wasn’t okay with it, not in the slightest, and he did his best to ameliorate it, but he could live with it, for now.

Sam took a sip of his own beer and shifted slightly, his nerves about what he was about to do finally getting the better of him. It was a rare thing for Sam to initiate anything between him and Dean; ever since the beginning, he had always let Dean take the lead, take control over everything that transpired between them. It was the way this part of their relationship worked, both of them taking what they needed from the other, and Sam needed Dean to take control from him because Sam wasn’t sure he would know what to do with it anymore. Sam didn’t remember much about what had happened down in the Cage but he knew that it had fucked with him royally, and it had left him confused and on edge until he found what he needed with Dean. His attitude to other areas of his life hadn’t changed as much as this part of him had, and he didn’t always know what to make of his new need to be under someone else’s control or, more specifically, under Dean’s control. All he knew was that it felt right to give that up to his brother, to give up everything he was, to the only person he truly trusted. And when they were having sex, Dean didn’t seem to mind.

When they were growing up, Sam had always been the defiant one, the brother who challenged and argued against every order that John (or Dean) had thrown his way. The ability to question and argue was part of what made Sam such a gifted Law student, and it had made him stand out from the herd at Stanford, but it was also one of the reasons he had been so suited as the Devil’s vessel. Sam didn’t see things in black and white, and Lucifer had worn him down by playing on Sam’s knowledge that the world was composed of shades of grey. It made sense to Sam that Lucifer would have tried to burn away the independent part of him, because Sam had betrayed him, and Lucifer would have enjoyed stripping Sam of the defiance that had ultimately been the Devil’s undoing.

Sam leant forward, placing his half-drunk bottle on the table between the two beds. Taking a deep breath, and doing his level best to shove all thoughts about the Devil and Hell to the back of his mind, he tried to focus solely on Dean. He turned to face his brother, briefly registering Dean’s questioning look, before allowing his gaze to rest on where Dean’s hand was wrapped loosely around the neck of the beer bottle that was propped against the inside of his thigh. Sam moved slowly to kneel between Dean’s spread legs. Telling himself that it was okay to do this, to take the lead for once, Sam shifted forwards, hesitantly stretching his good arm to press his hand against the rough sheets next to Dean’s thigh. 

Before Hell, if he and Dean had ever been inclined to do something like this, Sam would not have had a problem with pushing and shoving Dean into whatever position he wanted and giving back every bit as good as he got, and more. It was how things had always been with anyone else Sam had let into his bed but things were different now; he was different now. Putting all his weight on his good hand, Sam reached forward with the other and plucked the bottle from Dean’s lose grip, wincing slightly as he stretched, a little further than he should have, to place it on the table next to his own discarded bottle. Sam licked at his, suddenly, dry lips before shifting to stretch his body out so he was perched over his brother. He moved his free hand so it was flat against the pillow next to Dean’s elbow, he kept his head tilted down and level with Dean’s chin. Sam stared at his brother’s chest for a few moments, trying to work up the nerve to look him in the eye and, God bless his brother, Dean sat incredibly still, not making a move to touch Sam or hurry him along. He seemed content to let Sam proceed at his own pace, somehow knowing that this was important to Sam; somehow realising that Sam needed to show Dean that he wanted to do this all on his own, no commands needed.

Sam raised his head but kept his eyes closed, he knew that if he looked directly into his older brother’s eyes right now his determination would break, and he would beg Dean to take charge, and he couldn’t allow that. Sam was convinced that Dean needed this from him, some sort of independently-offered confirmation that Sam was doing this with Dean willingly, because he loved him and not because he was so fucked up in the head he couldn’t tell the difference between right and wrong. Both Winchesters were well aware that what they were doing was wrong, like illegal in all 50 states wrong.

Sam willed himself out of his thoughts and into action, struggling against his new submissive nature, he stretched up to brush his lips gently across Dean’s cheek before slowly sliding them down to press at his brother’s lips. Dean’s soft moan was the sign Sam had been waiting for, pushing him into further action and before he could think himself out of it. The kiss wasn’t much more than a brush of his spit slick lips against Dean’s chapped, dry ones but it made Sam’s stomach flutter in excitement; the feel of Dean’s body close enough to get Sam’s heart racing in anticipation. Pulling back slightly, Sam’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Dean’s. Sam smiled shyly, struggling against the urge to hang his head like the blushing virgin he definitely wasn’t.

Dean smiled down at him, Sam felt his brother’s fingers twitch against his knee, as though itching to touch, but Dean didn’t move. The fact that he wasn’t on his back yet was the only permission Sam needed that it was okay for this to happen. That is was okay for Sam to take to lead for once, although it didn’t quite feel like he was in charge of the encounter, it felt more like Dean was humouring him, like he had when they were children and Sam had insisted he was old enough to do grown up things. Dean had always nodded, told him that if that was what he wanted then he could, and then Dean would shadow him, keeping a respectable distance, but still there should support be needed.

Reaching up to grab Dean’s shoulder, Sam shifted up the bed, moving so he was straddling his brother’s thighs. It forced Dean to tilt his head back so he could continue to stare into Sam’s eyes. Sam slid his hand across Dean’s shoulder before moving to cup his neck gently. He brushed his thumb against the underside of Dean’s jaw while dragging his other hand up Dean’s chest, letting his palm glide over the cotton of Dean’s shirt, until he could curl his fingers around his brother’s shoulder only just managing not to wince as he once again pulled at his stitches, though, from the way Dean’s arms jerked towards him, Sam hadn’t done a great job at hiding his pain.

Desperate to distract his brother, Sam surged forward and pushed his lips against Dean’s in a hungry kiss. Dean held himself still under Sam’s insistent kiss, letting Sam’s mouth move against his but not responding in kind. Sam started to pull away, a plea for forgiveness already on the tip of his tongue. Maybe he had been wrong and Dean wasn’t okay with this but didn’t want to hurt Sam’s feelings. Maybe if Sam pushed things any farther, Dean would shove him off and onto the floor, disgusted with his behaviour. Sam regretted his decision not to discuss things with Dean before beginning this. What had he been thinking? It might have been stupid of Sam to think that Dean would ever be okay with his little brother initiating things. That time in the car, not long ago, must have been a fluke, a one off, a case of Sam reacting to the obvious frustration that had been rolling off of Dean at the time. Maybe Sam had been foolish to think that Dean would let him get away with acting outside their established dynamic twice in one month.

Before Sam could pull away, Dean arched forward and kissed him hard; Sam melted gratefully against his brother’s lips, moaning as he slid both his hands around to the back of Dean’s head to thread his fingers through the short hair and hold Dean against him. Sam’s shoulder hurt, the damaged tissue and muscles throbbed as the stitched skin was pulled with every movement of his arm, but Sam welcomed the pain, he let his pleasure from the kissing wrap around it, making his skin itch with need. Sam shifted his body slightly and began to rock his hips, grinding down against his brother’s hard dick.

Pulling his mouth away from Sam’s, his eyes closed tight, Dean let his head fall back, groaning like he belonged in a porn film. Sam couldn’t help but smile as he untangled his hands from Dean’s hair so he could rest them on his Dean’s shoulders to give him the leverage he needed to move his hips faster, grinding down harder in a pale imitation of what was to come, of what he wanted Dean to do to him.

Dean growled and tipped his head forward, his pupils so wide that his eyes were nearly all-black. His strong hands gripped Sam’s hips, stilling his brother’s enthusiastic movements. Frowning slightly, Sam looked at his brother questioningly. He knew that Dean had been enjoying it, hard evidence of that enjoyment rested against Sam’s pelvis, so why had Dean stopped him? Dean smiled up at him, fingers rubbing gently at Sam’s hips before tapping one hip gently and jerking his head towards the other bed. It was a silent command that Sam had been given, and had used himself, a hundred times before but the familiarity of the gesture didn’t make him any less confused though. Sam moved slowly off Dean to stand at the side of the bed, trying not to look like a naughty school boy about to get told off.

Dean sat up and swung his legs around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide and bracketing Sam’s. Without a word, Dean began to open the buttons on Sam’s shirt, his fingertips ghosting against Sam’s stomach as he made his way up towards Sam’s collar. Sam sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the tingling sensation of his brother’s touch, his hard cock twitching with interest, and Sam knew Dean was doing this on purpose. The smug smile on his full lips proof enough that Dean loved to torture Sam any way he could whenever he got the chance. Sam hadn’t always been like this, hadn’t always been so strongly responsive to another’s touch, but when it came to Dean he always seemed to end up feeling like a virgin sacrifice about to be claimed by a pagan god. He always got like this with Dean, _for_ Dean, and Sam was more than happy for it to stay that way until Death finally caught up with them.

Once the buttons on Sam’s shirt were open, Dean curled his fingers gently over Sam’s shoulders, mindful of Sam’s stitches, and pushed him back slightly to make room for Dean to stand up, so close now that their chests were touching. Sliding his hands down Sam’s arms, Dean pushed the shirt off his brother, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. His expression serious with an undercurrent of sadness in his eyes that had been there for so long now that it was hard for Sam to pinpoint when he had first noticed it. Most probably, it had happened when he had died in Cold Oak: it had been the place where everything had really started to go to Hell for him and Dean, quite literally.

Deciding that he couldn’t bear to see his brother looking at him like that, Sam leant forward, his eyes slipping closed as he sealed his lips over Dean’s, kissing him deep and hard, almost edging on desperate. Sam curled his large hands over Dean’s hips and pulled him forward to allow him to rub his aching dick against Dean’s stomach. The increase in stimulation made Sam groan, made him pull his mouth away from Dean’s, to seeking out his brother’s neck as he gasped for air. Sam kissed down Dean’s neck sloppily, nuzzling against the crook of his neck as he tried to push Dean’s collar out of his way with his nose so he could get at more skin without having to take his hands off his brother.

Dean moaned loudly in Sam’s ear and, as he grasped tightly at Sam’s hips, it sent shivers down the younger man’s spine. Dean yanked Sam forward to grind his own hard cock against Sam’s thigh. Fighting the urge to drop to his knees and beg Dean to take him, mark him, and claim him as his own, Sam moved to seal his mouth over Dean’s once more, his lips parting automatically as Dean ran his tongue across the seam, seeking entrance and whimpering once he got it. The kiss was vigorous, the brothers’ tongues battling as they rocked against one another like a pair of horny teenagers clueless about the idea of foreplay. Pleasure built in Sam’s body and, before he really knew what he was doing, his hands had slipped round to the front of Dean’s jeans, his long fingers worked to pop open the buttons, desperate for more. Sam didn’t really care what happened next just as long as it was him and Dean doing more than the frustrating humping they had going on.

As soon as Dean realised what Sam was doing, he yanked his mouth away from his brother’s, ignoring the whine of protest Sam made, and moved his hands from Sam’s hips to his wrists to stop him from getting any more than the first two buttons open.

‘Sam,’ Dean panted, his voice a mix of lust and determination. His head fell to rest against Sam’s good shoulder as he pulled in one ragged breath after another trying to calm his racing pulse.

Sam stood, his hands hovering in front of Dean’s flies and his own chest heaving as he tried to calm himself down. The moment that Dean stopped him, he knew that this wasn’t going to be fast and dirty like it was between them ninety-percent of the time. Dean wanted to take things slow, take his time to enjoy Sam and what he did to him, and that was fine with Sam. More than usual, tonight Sam wanted to give Dean anything he wanted, Dean didn’t even have to ask for it. Sam would let him take what he wanted, would let Dean have everything Sam had to offer and more.

Once his breathing had slowed somewhat, Dean pulled back slightly and looked up at Sam with a soft smile. Sam smiled back, turning his hands around so he could brush his fingers against Dean’s wrists but Dean slipped his hands away from his brother’s searching fingers and placed them back on Sam’s hips. Dean toyed with the hem of Sam’s undershirt, his fingers brushed against Sam’s stomach and made Sam gasp softly. Smiling slyly, Dean began to slide his hands up Sam’s sides, parting the front of the shirt up as he worked, his hands moved up towards Sam’s shoulders and he detoured slightly so his thumbs brushed over Sam’s sensitive nipples.

Instinctively, Sam went to raise his arms, eager for Dean to rid him of the unnecessary piece of clothing, but as soon as he moved his injured shoulder pain throbbed down his arm and he let the arm drop, wincing as he tried to shove the pain to one side. Briefly, he thought of taking more painkillers before they got too far into whatever it was they would end up doing but, just as he was about to suggest it, Dean surged forward and claimed his mouth is a forceful kiss. Initially, Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, somewhat taken off guard by his brother’s abrupt action, but as Dean shoved his tongue past Sam’s lips and into his mouth, Sam’s eyes fluttered closed and he moaned happily as Dean dominated the kiss. Sam found it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feel of Dean’s body against him, his arms enfolding him, owning him. Sam’s mind was racing with sense memories of how Dean felt inside of him, of what Dean could do to him and Sam was so distractedly lost in his memories, and the feel of Dean’s lips moving hard against his, that he didn’t even notice that Dean had freed his good arm from the shirt until Dean finally pulled back so he could slowly slide the other sleeve down over Sam’s bad shoulder. Dean threw the shirt behind them as soon as it was free from Sam’s body.

Sam stood, naked from the waist up, trapped by Dean’s heated gaze as it moved down Sam’s body, taking in his pebbled nipples, and his abs as they moved with every breath Sam took, all the way down to the obvious bulge pushing against the front of his now uncomfortably tight jeans. Dean’s tongue swiped slowly across his bottom lip, making it glisten in the hazy afternoon light that leaked through the small gap in the dingy curtains. Dean’s hungry gaze stayed fixed on Sam’s erection and Sam couldn’t help but whine. His fingers itched to reach out and pull his brother back against him. Ever since Dean had hinted at it, in that empty stairwell back in Topeka, Sam had been picturing, almost obsessively, his brother’s mouth sucking him down and bringing him gasping to completion.

Glancing back up at Sam, Dean smiled with intent as he grabbed Sam’s hips and used them to Sam around so he was the one with his back to their bed. They stood, Sam waiting for Dean to make the next move, to take charge like he always did, but all Dean did was stand there, a hot presence at Sam’s back. Dean raised an eyebrow to himself, as he leaned over Sam’s shoulder and made a show of looking down at Sam’s crotch and then back up again, looking expectantly at his little brother. Watching Dean from the side of his eyes, Sam moved to look at his own erection, trying to figure out what Dean wanted from him; his lust-addled brain a little slow on the uptake. Dean just continued to stand behind him, his thumbs rubbing against the exposed flesh of Sam’s hips, waiting for him to catch on.

Finally, Sam realised what Dean wanted when his brother grew bored of waiting and inched his hands over to thumb teasingly at the top button of Sam’s jeans. Smiling at his own stupidity, Sam quickly scrabbled to unbutton his jeans, Dean’s huff of pleased laughter hot against his neck as he fumbled with the zipper.

‘Good boy, Sammy,’ Dean murmured, as he leaned in, mouthing along the side of Sam neck, nipping gently. 

Whimpering, Sam tilted his head forward, exposing more of his neck to his brother’s hungry mouth. Sam quickly tried to shove his jeans down even though they weren’t fully open; the difference between now, and how things normally were between him and Dean, standing out like a flashing neon light in Sam’s head. Normally, sex between them was barked commands and forceful shoves. It was Dean bending Sam to his will; despite them both knowing that Sam would obey willingly, even if pain was a certainty. What was happening now was gentle nudging and murmured praise, Dean waiting for Sam to comply instead of forcing him to hurry. Sam had become so used to the other way things were between them, that he wasn’t entirely certain how this encounter would go. They hadn’t really been doing _this_ for that long, maybe six months tops, and apart from the first time (when it had been half ‘thank fuck we’re still alive’ sex and half ‘too horny to think clearly’ sex)  it had been rough and dirty, and all the kinds of wrong that nowadays felt way too good to both their tortured minds. So, maybe this was a side of Dean that he hadn’t had the chance to explore before, a game that they had yet to play, and, if this was what Dean wanted, who was Sam to deny him.

Finally getting his zipper all the way down, Sam shoved his jeans and underwear down in one go, too impatient to waste time taking one off before the other. Dean growled, as Sam was finally exposed to his hungry eyes, and moved to unceremoniously shove Sam backwards onto the bed. Sam stumbled, his pants still tangled around his ankles, and he landed in a sprawl over the cheap sheets, the sudden movement jarring his shoulder and sending a sharp pain down his arm, but he had grown so used to it by now that he didn’t even wince as his stitches were pulled. Instead, he welcomed the now-pleasant burn.

Dean wasted no time in dropping to his knees and shedding Sam of his boots and socks before he freed his brother from the last of his clothes, chucking them behind him to join the growing pile of clothes. Sam slumped back onto the bed, his head hanging over the far edge as he lost himself to feel of Dean hands sliding slowly up his thighs, blunt nails scratching against the tender flesh as he went. Hissing, Sam arched his back, spreading his legs in a wanton display just for his brother.

Dean’s low laughter filled the otherwise quiet room, his hot breath sending shivers up Sam’s spine as it ghosted across his knee and up the inside of his thigh. He could hear Dean moving, clothes rustling, and the floor creaking softly but he kept his eyes tightly closed. The anticipation of what was coming was making him tremble. His heart was thumping in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears felt so loud that he was surprised Dean couldn’t hear it, that he couldn’t feel Sam’s pulse racing as his blood rushed through his body, heading south. It had been days since they had stood on the stairwell in Topeka, with Dean licking his lips seductively and promising something that Sam hadn’t had in months, and he wanted it bad. He wanted Dean’s wet mouth wrapped around his dick, Dean’s head bobbing up and down as he sucked and licked and drove Sam crazy with the slow torture of it because Sam wouldn’t come, couldn’t come, until Dean said so. If, and when, Dean had sucked him off in the past six months, Sam had learned to lie as still as he possibly could; Dean wouldn’t let him move but he didn’t stop Sam from moaning and begging, pleading for more, which Dean generally gave him, eventually.

A gentle nip to the top of his thigh, had Sam’s body flinching before Dean brushed his lips across the same spot, soothing the abused skin with gentle kisses and brief swipes of his tongue. This continued for a long few minutes Dean gently kissing his way up one leg and down the other leaving Sam frustrated and on the verge of demanding that Dean do something. Dean was treating him like a delicate, breakable thing when they both knew that Sam could take so much more before he cried out for Dean to stop. They had both pushed him to his limits many times before; the sharp bite of one of Dean’s blades and the taste of his own blood nothing more than a way to greater pleasure for both of them. Dean treating him like a china doll was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. 

Dean slid his hands up Sam’s thighs, so close to where Sam wanted them, but to his disappointment Dean slid them up and round to grasp Sam’s hips lightly, his thumbs rubbing small circles into Sam’s lower stomach. Sam lay there for a few minutes, listening to his racing pulse slowing as he waited for Dean to do something but, when Dean didn’t show any sign of stopping what he was doing, Sam resigned himself to abiding by what Dean wanted. Lifting his head slightly, Sam gazed down at his brother, eyes narrowing slightly as he registered the vacant gleam in Dean’s eyes.

Dean knelt between Sam’s spread legs, his brows creased as he stared at his hands splayed across Sam’s tanned skin. His eyes were unfocused and he looked lost in his own world, barely even registering that he had Sam under him, naked, and willing, and waiting for Dean.

‘Dean,’ Sam groaned his brother’s name, calling out for attention.

Dean’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he realised what he had done.  He smirked at Sam with no trace of apology and squeezed Sam’s hips once more before letting go and putting his hands flat on the bed to push himself up slightly.

‘Sorry, baby boy,’ he responded, in a low, playful voice.   

Sam shivered at Dean’s playful words, a mix of lust and disgust filling him at the mention of the nickname that Dean always used when they were in bed together. Groaning, Sam let his head fall back, the edge of the mattress digging into his neck as he tried to ignore his brother’s amused laughter. Dean knew that Sam professed not to like it when he used that particular endearment during sex yet Dean insisted on using it, liking the fact that it always got under Sam’s skin and got him hot. And, like always, Sam knew he wouldn’t protest the nickname until this was over and they lay together panting and spent. Dean tapped Sam’s thigh and Sam instantly lifted his head, his eyes searching out Dean’s. As soon as Dean had Sam’s attention, he jerked his head towards the top of the bed, lifting his hand and twirling it, an unspoken command for Sam to move. Dean rose to his feet and Sam quickly pulled himself up and changed position on the bed. As he scrambled into position, he worked to push away his disappointment that he hadn’t got to have his brother’s mouth, stopping when his elbows hit the pillows and his feet were only just dangling off the end of the bed. It didn’t matter where they went the beds were never long enough for him to truly stretch out without some part of him left dangling off the edge of the bed.

Keeping his weight supported on his elbows and his chest and head elevated, Sam watched as Dean’s gaze trailed over his body; Sam thought Dean looked very much like he couldn’t decide what part of Sam he should devour first. Dean bent to run his hands up Sam’s legs and slowly moved to climb onto the bed between Sam’s spread legs. The scrape of denim against the inside of his thighs emphasising the fact that he was naked while Dean was still fully clothed. It wasn’t the first time they had done things like this; Sam a naked shivering mess, begging for his brother, and Dean only undoing his jeans enough to get his dick out. The most memorable time being on a fairly deserted backroad, when Dean had made Sam strip at the side of the road before he’d climbed onto the hood and leaned back against the windscreen, unzipping his pants and getting Sam to ride him, facing away from his brother and on clear display for any potential passersby. It had been pretty dirty and degrading, and had made him feel completely used, but Sam had loved it. Loved the feel of rough denim chafing against his ass combined with the feel of Dean’s cold belt buckle digging into his lower back as he fucked into Sam hard and fast, even the feel of the soft and faded cotton of Dean’s t-shirt rubbing against his back. If that was the kind of thing Dean wanted now, Sam wouldn’t mind, not one bit.

Once he was settled comfortably on the bed, Dean slid his hands off Sam’s hips, placed them on the bed on either side of his brother’s torso and leant forward. Breathing out softly, he ran the tip of his nose lightly across Sam’s stomach, his lips just ghosting across the sensitive skin making the muscles beneath twitch. Groaning, Sam let his arms go limp and his upper body fell back onto the bed. Running a shaky hand through his hair, Sam pulled in a deep breath, trying to fight the urge to ask for more. They had done things slow before but not like this; then, it had been more like slow torture, with Dean repeatedly working Sam right up to the point of orgasm but stopping. It had reduced Sam to tears running down his face and begging for Dean to make it stop, to make it feel better. But now, this was just slow with seemingly no concealed motive; Sam was feeling frustrated but not in the good way. The pleasure humming through his body wasn’t climbing higher, the way he had become used to, and the lack of progression was making him want to fidget. Sam felt, instead of heard, Dean speak, the words mumbled into the skin of his stomach. It took Sam a few seconds to figure out the word that his brother kept repeating, to recognise the shape Dean’s lips made, and suddenly Sam knew what all this was about, why Dean was treating him like glass.

A wave of exasperation ran through Sam and he felt as though he could punch his brother except for the fact that he knew it would hurt Dean a lot more if he pushed him away. Besides, even if he wanted to shove at Dean in frustration, Sam didn’t think he could, he was far too used to the control Dean had over him during sex. Sighing, Sam closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to make peace with the idea of letting his brother continue with whatever he felt he needed to do.

Dean placed gentle kisses across Sam’s hipbones, apologising for something, something about which Sam didn’t know and wasn’t about to ask; he wasn’t going to ruin Dean’s unspoken apology. He would accept it graciously, showing his acceptance in the way he ran his hand gently through Dean’s hair, stroking lightly at the nape of his neck, but not pushing his brother to do more, simply accepting the slow torture of having his brother’s lips so close to where he really wanted them.

It seemed to last forever, Dean dragging his lips across Sam’s stomach and the top of his thighs; mumbling apologies, that Sam probably didn’t need, into his skin. The effect of the painkillers Sam had taken earlier was gone and the irritating ache in his shoulder was now a full blown fire, burning brighter with every jerk of his shoulder. Normally, this wouldn’t bother Sam: he was a Winchester, raised to keep going no matter the level of pain he felt and, since the Cage, Sam found his mixed up brain enjoyed the blend of pleasure and pain that Dean could made him feel but, right now, Sam’s desire was fading and his erection was flagging. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy moments like these, he loved them, loved losing himself in every last one that he was lucky enough to be granted. But he had started things with Dean this evening with the expectation of something different than what was happening.

Sighing, Sam ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he should just haul Dean up, tuck himself into his brother’s embrace and forget about the sex he so clearly wasn’t going to get tonight or if he should just let Dean continue until Sam finally fell asleep. Neither option was that appealing. Just as he was about to start yanking on Dean’s hair, to get his brother to move up the bed, hot breath ghosted over his half-hard dick, causing it to twitch. Sam’s body jerked instinctively and he lifted his head quickly to look down at his brother, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. Dean leered up at him from where he lay between Sam’s spread legs, his mouth hovering over Sam’s rapidly re-hardening dick, the speed of the blood flowing back into his dick leaving Sam feeling light-headed.

‘Still with me, baby boy?’ Dean asked.

Sam didn’t even bother to complain about the nickname, Dean’s husky voice chased away any other thought he might have had.

‘Yeah,’ Sam breathed, laying back down; his legs automatically spreading wider. Dean chuckled loud and dirty against Sam’s now-stiff cock and Sam couldn’t help but wondering if this was just some big game Dean had been playing, if his intention was to work Sam up then let him come crashing back down, only to send him flying back up. If it was, than Sam didn’t want to play this game often.

Sam’s whole body jerked at the first tentative lick across the swollen head of his cock, gasping at the feel of Dean’s tongue swirling around the tip. Fighting every instinct that told him to drive himself deeper into the warm wet heat, Sam tried to keep as still as possible - a decision that was proving hard with Dean now tracing the underside of his cock with the flat of his tongue before returning to lick the glans, lapping at the precome gathering there before sucking the head into his mouth.

‘Dean,’ Sam whimpered, his brother’s name falling from his lips in the form of a desperate plea. He didn’t have to beg for long because, as soon as the word left Sam’s mouth, Dean’s  mouth began sinking down, his tongue rubbing against the underside and teeth scraping gently across the top.

Sam arched off the bed, crying out as his hips jolted forward, shoving his dick further into his brother’s mouth. Dean choked as the head of Sam’s dick hit the back of his throat, and pulled off, coughing.

‘Sorry,’ Sam gasped, as Dean’s hands curled around his hips and forced him back down, pinning him to the bed.

Dean’s only reply was to hum gently as he moved back into position to suck Sam down once move, not stopping until his nose was rubbing against the coarse hair of Sam’s crotch. Sam moved his head, pushing his face into the pillow, eyes screwed shut as he moaned, and tried to keep his hips still, but it felt too good: Dean sucking him down, Sam’s cock sinking into the tight heat that he had only had in his dreams for the past four months - and his memories really didn’t do his brother justice. Dean sucked greedily, his head bobbing up and down, his tongue swirling around the head before he sank back down, teeth scraping lightly against Sam’s shaft. He was using every trick he had ever learned about giving head and they both knew it, neither one caring that he had learnt it all from other people, other people who he had let do this to him.

Sam clasped at the bedsheets, his body taut and his mouth hanging open as he gasped for air that somehow ended up as a whine. Sam desperate pleas mixed with the sounds Dean made, as he sucked and licked Sam into a frenzy, while his hands never strayed from where they grasped tightly at Sam’s hips, sure to leave bruises. Pulling back till only the tip of Sam’s dick remained in his mouth, Dean hummed, tongue swiping over the slit and lapping his tongue against the sensitive head. Bliss burned hot in Sam’s belly, his balls tightening, and he knew he was close, he could feel his fingers and toes starting to tingle and curl.

‘Dean, please…please, wanna come… so close, please,’ Sam begged, riding the edge of an orgasm but unable to get there without Dean’s command.

Dean pulled his mouth off Sam’s dick with a pop. Sam groaned at the loss but was hopeful that Dean had stopped to give him the one command he longed for at the moment. Dean grinned up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief as he winked at Sam before he slid off the bed and walked to the other bed. The unspoken command of ‘stay’ implicit in his body language.

Sam watched Dean as he moved to pull his bag across the mattress. Sam was breathing heavily but staying exactly where Dean had left him, legs spread and arms at his side, fingers clutching at the sheets below him. He fought hard against the instinctive need to clench his buttocks and rock his hips. The sound of a zipper opening was loud in the quiet room and caused Sam’s calming pulse to start racing once more, anticipation building throughout his body. He knew what Dean was looking for, well he hoped he did but he wouldn’t complain if his brother came back with one of the other things that lurked in the depths of their bags.

Turning around with a triumphant smile, Dean waved the small bottle of lube in the air before chucking it at his brother. Sam gasped as the cool plastic bottle landed on his chest, his fingers twitched as the instinctive reaction to reach up and throw the damn thing back at his brother flashed through his mind. Sam briefly considered aiming at his brother’s head as retribution for being such a dick. Dean stared down at him, daring him to try something, to go against his command, and though Sam knew any punishment would probably leave him completely spent, body humming with what would probably be mostly pain, he didn’t move. He continued to stare at Dean, watching as his brother’s smirk turned into a smile.

‘Good boy, Sammy,’ Dean praised, as he sank back down onto their bed but didn’t move to continue what he had stopped.

Sam’s face showed his uncertainty. Maybe there was something Dean wanted him to do, something he had said but Sam had missed in the heat of the moment. Or, maybe, Dean was being a cock-teasing bastard, getting off on Sam’s blatant need for his brother. Wanting to keep his brother happy, which was the point of this evening’s activities after all, Sam continued to lie still and watch Dean as his brother ran a hand through his short hair. His eyes flitted uneasily between Sam and the floor and his smile faltered, his expression changed to look troubled, his brows began to furrow as he locked his gaze on the floor.

Sam had no idea what was suddenly bothering his older brother but Dean’s mood changing at odd times was nothing new. Mostly, Dean kept his emotions shoved so far down that Sam didn’t think Dean even knew what he was feeling half the time. Sam could only assume this sudden change of mood had arisen as a mix of whatever the fuck had Dean’s back up about Hope and some ill-placed guilt about Sam’s injuries. If it was the latter, Sam was going to make damn sure that his brother heard that there was nothing he could have done, nothing he could have changed that would have saved Sam from a few weeks of painkillers and trying not to move his shoulder too much.

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck before letting his hand drop. He bent forward, his deft fingers quickly unlacing his boots so he could toe them off. Once they were kicked to the side, Dean yanked his socks off and stuffed them into the tops of the discarded boots. As he stood, Dean grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked the tight, black material over his head, his stomach muscles rippling with the movement and just begging to have Sam’s lips all over them as he kissed and licked his way up Dean’s chest, mapping out his brother’s body with his mouth.

Letting the shirt fall to the floor, to join the growing pile of unwanted clothes, Dean moved back onto the bed where Sam lay, in his own opinion, waiting quite patiently for his brother’s return. Dean grabbed the bottle of lube off Sam’s chest and moved to re-position himself between Sam’s spread legs. Dean leaned forward to kiss Sam gently, his tongue brushing lightly across Sam’s lips before he pulled away. His nimble fingers twisted and pinched at Sam’s sensitive nipples to pull a soft gasp from him.

The pop of Dean opening the cap of the lube had Sam’s hips arching off the bed, desperate to keep his brother’s hands on him, even though he knew what was coming would be so much better.

‘Shhh, its okay, baby boy. M’gonna take care of you n’ give you what you need,’ Dean said soothingly as he ghosted his fingers over Sam’s hip one last time before pulling his hand away.

Sam watched with thinly veiled anticipation as Dean squirted a large dollop of the clear gel on his fingers before popping the cap shut and throwing it up the bed to land near Sam’s shoulder. Settling back, Dean used his clean hand to push Sam’s right leg out wider to give himself more room to work and to see what he was doing. Sam gasped as Dean’s cool, slippery fingers rubbed teasingly at his entrance. His cock twitched eagerly as Dean slowly pushed the tip of his finger inside only to pull it back out seconds later.

‘Dean, c’mon,’ Sam whimpered, pleading with his brother to stop toying with him and just fuck him senseless. The only answer he got was Dean’s low laughter and that finger pushing steadily at his entrance.

Both of them moaned loudly when Dean finally pressed his entire finger inside Sam, the slick digit sinking in with little resistance, Sam’s body eager to have Dean inside it once again. Pushing his free hand against Sam’s pelvis, Dean began to slowly thrust his finger in and out of Sam’s tight hole, his eyes fixed on Sam’s face as Sam moaned and gasped, squirming to try and get more: more speed, more friction, just more. But Dean’s grip on him tightened further, making it almost impossible for Sam to get the friction he needed. The slow torment of Dean’s fingering continued for what felt like – to Sam at least – an age. Dean seemed content for the present to drag every little gasp and moan he could from his brother without touching that one spot he knew would have Sam yelling his name and begging to come.

‘Dean…ungh…do it, please,’ Sam begged, trying to wriggle his hips and force himself onto Dean’s finger at an angle that would hit his prostate, but, before he could move more than an inch or two, Dean slipped his finger free of Sam’s throbbing hole to leave him feeling empty.

Before Sam could even think of protesting the loss, Dean was pushing two fingers back inside of him, wiggling them as he forced Sam’s body to open up more. Sam cried out at the intrusion, his body going rigid as he tried to keep himself from thrusting onto the much fuller feeling in his ass. His knuckles were white where he gripped the bedcovers tightly, his head was lifting up and falling back onto the pillow. Dean’s fingers felt big, not nearly as big as his cock but thicker than Sam’s fingers - which was the only thing Sam had had inside him since Portland. And though he had often taken three of Dean’s fingers, and on one occasion Dean’s entire fist, it had been too long since the last time he had had any part of Dean inside him and his body wasn’t as accustomed to the intrusion as it would normally be.

Sam’s ass burned when Dean began to scissor his fingers, slowly dragging them in and out, purposely missing Sam’s prostate and making the discomfort of being stretched feel ten times worse. Groaning in frustration, Sam wiggled his hips slightly, changing the angle and pushing himself down onto Dean’s fingers, determined to make his brother go faster and harder without actually demanding him to. Sam cried out as pleasure burst through his body, and he went limp as Dean’s fingers brushed against the hypersensitive bundle of nerves one more time, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his pelvis and up his spine, before Dean yanked his fingers free. A mumbled ‘fuck’ falling from his lips.

Whimpering at the loss of sensation, Sam opened his eyes in time to watch as Dean’s slick fingers slipped on the worn metal of his belt buckle as he tried to get the rest of the buttons on his jeans open. Dean cursed under his breath until he finally managed to yank the tight jeans down and kick them to the floor. He wore nothing underneath but Sam didn’t find that surprising. It didn’t stop him from looking on with hungry eyes, licking his lips as he saw his brother’s hard dick. Just as quickly as he had pulled away, Dean was back on the bed to drape himself over Sam and kiss Sam hard, his tongue pushing its way past Sam’s lips and into his mouth. Sam groaned, lifting his hips up to grind against Dean’s. Dean shoved back against Sam, forcing his hips back onto the bed as he ground hard against his younger brother, moaning as their dicks rubbed against each other.

‘Dean, fuck…Dean, please…need you in me,’ Sam gasped, as he pulled his mouth away from his brother’s, his hands automatically going to grasp his Dean’s shoulders to gain the leverage he needed to continue rocking against him.

‘Fuck,’ Dean rasped, jerking back from Sam’s grasp to curl his hand around Sam’s thigh and hoist his leg over his shoulder, spreading Sam open so he could guide his weeping dick into Sam’s twitching hole.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam braced himself for the rough burn that was bound to come when Dean slammed into him in one hard thrust, but it never came. Dean pushed into Sam slowly, his jaw clenched and head tilted forward, eyes screwed shut as he slid into Sam’s slick heat as slowly as he could stand. He fought against the urge to slam hard into the willing body beneath him. Sam’s breath caught on a groan as Dean slid inside of him, the leg that wasn’t hitched over Dean’s shoulder slid up to curl around Dean’s hip. Dean pushing inside him hadn’t burned like Sam had been expecting, it was more like a dull ache, but Sam would be lying if he said he hadn’t been eagerly anticipating more. The pain that eventually became brain-melting pleasure was one thing that Dean had down to an art form, in addition to hunting and car maintenance.

Dean stilled, once he was completely inside of Sam, and let Sam’s leg fall from his shoulder, as he shifted into a more comfortable position. Placing one hand next to Sam’s head, and the other by his hip, Dean’s fingers absentmindedly stroked against his brother’s side.

‘You good?’ Dean panted, lifting his head from where it had fallen against Sam’s shoulder so he could look his brother in the eyes.

If he had been feeling bolder, or had been looking to drag this out in a way that would leave him a bloody, shaking mess - weak at the knees and unable to move without wincing for the next week - then Sam would have said ‘no’. He would have insisted that Dean fuck him good and hard, hard enough to make him shout out and beg for more, but he wasn’t. Instead, all he did was nod his head, a mumbled ‘yeah’ escaping from between kiss-swollen lips.

Dean smiled down at Sam, moving his mouth millimetres from Sam’s lips as he started to move inside Sam. Slowly, he pulled out of Sam, until just the tip of his dick remained in Sam’s hole, before sliding back in just as slow. Sam arched his back, outwardly giving every indication of a wanton display of intense pleasure but, in reality, trying to push back on his brother’s infuriatingly slow thrusts, desperate for more. It had no effect; Dean continued to go at his own slow pace, his head falling to rest against Sam’s good shoulder. The sound of Dean’s quiet grunts and soft gasps of pleasure in Sam’s ear, with every hot breath ruffling his hair, sent shivers along Sam’s skin.

Lifting his good arm, Sam ran his hand up Dean’s arm, curling his fingers around his brother’s bicep, his nails digging slightly into the muscle. He hoped that the small shock of pain would urge his brother on and, for a second, Sam thought he had succeeded as Dean shifted his weight from one leg to the other, to angle his thrusts deeper and drag over Sam’s prostate, but still not speeding up.

Gasping at the stronger sensation, Sam moaned loudly as bliss shot through his body. He felt Dean smirk against his neck, his lips parting and blunt teeth scraping against the skin over Sam’s jugular. The small prick of pain had Sam panting for more, pushing himself back down onto Dean’s thrusts, as his brother pushed forward, trying to impale himself on Dean’s dick. Sam’s eyes squeezed shut and his hands gripped tighter on his brother’s body as Dean hit his sweet spot once more. Dean swore into the crook of Sam’s neck, his thrusts becoming jerky as he fought against the urge to slam into his brother.

‘Dean,’ Sam groaned, the hand that wasn’t trying to claw its way through Dean’s arm coming up to thread through Dean’s hair, tugging at it. The movement also tugged Sam’s stitches and he felt something snap with a warm wet heat sliding over sensitive skin. 

Sam wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist and shoved himself onto Dean’s hard dick, trying to grind on it and loving the mix of pleasure and pain that shot through his body. This was what he wanted, what he had been craving since that first tentative kiss and, had been too afraid to ask his brother for. This was what he needed, what he wanted, what he had to have from Dean.

Groaning, Dean untangled himself from his Sam’s grasp and reeled back to get a better look at the writhing, pleading man under him. He stopped rocking his hips and moved a shaky hand  up to Sam’s shoulder, eyes creased in concern.

‘Fuck, Sammy! You’re bleeding,’ he said, his fingers brushing against the bloody cotton dressing as he spoke, voice rough and full of concern.

The moment Dean’s fingers brushed against the covered wound, Sam grunted, his hips jerking in his brother’s hold, as he tried to push himself back onto Dean’s hard, wet cock, desperate for more.

‘Dean…fuck, please…just, please, don’t stop, want it...please, Dean,’ Sam gasped, the words falling from his lips in one big rush as he begged for what he wanted, his hands scrambling to grasp any part of Dean he could reach.

‘Fuck,’ Dean swore loudly, as he pushed himself away from, and out of, Sam, moving until he was kneeling over his brother. As he sank back into onto his haunches, Dean yanked Sam forward until Dean’s knees and thighs were shoved under Sam’s back, forcing all of Sam’s weight back onto his shoulders.

Sam cried out as pain shot through his shoulder and down his back, the wound in his shoulder throbbing like it was being ripped into once more. Dean didn’t give him time to even try and fight against the pain, he pushed back into Sam’s body hard and fast, hitting his sweet spot dead on and causing Sam to call out his brother’s name so loudly that he knew Hope would be able to hear him (if she was even back in her room). So loudly, that there was no mistaking what they were doing, what Dean was doing to him.

Sam tangled one hand in the sheets and the other shifted to grasp a fistful of his brother’s hair, yanking at it. Shifting slightly, Dean leaned forward, practically bending Sam in half and forcing more weight against his bad shoulder, ramming into Sam hard and fast, dragging every cry and moan of pleasure he could from his brother.

‘This what you want, Sammy?’ Dean growled out his question, his lips brushing against the bandage on Sam’s shoulder as he spoke. ‘Want me to fuck you like the cock slut you are?’

Sam grunted in answer, locking his ankles against the small of his brother’s back and digging his heels into Dean’s ass in an attempt to urge him deeper.

Sam was close, he could feel it coiling low in his stomach, his was skin tingling everywhere Dean was touching.

‘Look at you, so fuckin’ desperate for it,’ Dean hissed, his teeth scratching against the cotton wound dressing, his hips moving erratically against Sam’s ass, a sign that he too was close to blowing his load.

‘Deeannn,’ Sam whined, his hand snaking down to wrap around his cock only to have it slapped away.

‘You wanna come, baby boy, you come on my dick,’ Dean growled. He moved to tighten his grip on Sam’s hips, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise, and yanked him back, slamming Sam onto his dick as he thrust forward.

Dean kept yanking Sam as he shoved forward, gasping profanities and half-formed promises of darkly pleasurable things against Sam’s shoulder, as he finally began to lose his rhythm.

‘Fuck, baby boy…come on, come for me. Get that ass of yours nice and tight for me,’ Dean’s moaned words were enough to bring Sam to the edge, his mouth falling open on a silent cry as his body clenched tight around Dean, dragging a broken moan of Sam’s name from his brother’s lips. But it wasn’t until Dean bit down into the curve of Sam’s neck, just above the wound in his shoulder, that Sam came, his orgasm ripping through his body.

Sam made incoherent noises as his orgasm hit, light bursting behind his eyelids, pleasure flooding through his body making his skin tingle, his own blood-warm come splattering across his chest and neck. Too lost in his own pleasure to really notice what his brother was doing, Sam barely registered Dean stilling above him and grunting loudly as he emptied himself deep inside Sam,

Breathing hard, Sam slowly uncurled his fists, his knuckles cracking in protest. Dean’s forehead was pressed against Sam’s bad shoulder, his hot breath fanning over Sam’s sweat-slicked skin as the two came down from their orgasms. The sharp pain that had been pleasurable just moments ago was now back to stinging like a bitch, and Sam’s shoulder felt  like someone had rubbed salt into. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, It hurt, to put it bluntly, and the constant pressure of Dean’s head on it was doing nothing to dull that pain.

Groaning, Sam jerked his shoulder back, wincing at the discomfort. Dean moaned in protest as the movement jogged his head and pulling him from the hazy, post-orgasmic pleasure he had been floating in. Grunting, Dean slowly moved back, and Sam’s legs fell from their previous death grip around his waist, as he pulled out of his brother. Sam hissed as Dean slipped free of his abused asshole. Dean crawled over Sam to move up the bed slightly so he could collapse next to Sam.

Sam felt painfully empty as soon as Dean had slipped free of his body, he could feel his brother’s semen starting to leak from his stretched hole, and his own cooling rapidly against his chest. He knew he should drag his well-used ass out of bed and take a shower or, even better, get Dean to go get a wash cloth but Sam couldn’t bring himself to move. He was exhausted and feeling too content to want to leave his brother’s side any time soon. Sam rolled onto his good side, moving closer to Dean and tucking his head under his brother’s chin and tangling their feet together. Too easy a task considering how much taller he was. He would have wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist but Sam was sure the slightest movement of his bad shoulder would have him gasping out in pain.

Sam could feel sleep sneaking up on him, pulling him into the warm comforting darkness. He loved moments like this, when Dean was curled around him and holding him close; both of them content in the moment, with everything that had come before, and was waiting for them once they awoke, nothing more than a distant memory. The only thing that would make this better was if they were in their own bed, in their own house, and the monsters really didn’t exist. A lingering fantasy left over from his childhood, he knew that, but he could still hope.

‘Goddammit, Sam, look at your shoulder,’ Dean’s annoyed voice pulled Sam from the gentle grasp he had on his older brother.

Grunting, Sam lifted a hand to bat Dean’s hands away from where he was trying to get at the blood-stained bandage. No longer the sex god, Dean was looming over Sam like some sort of worried mother hen.

‘Dude, leave it alone,’ Sam mumbled sleepily, beginning to feel annoyed. Nine times out of ten it was like this: when they were in the throws of sex, Dean had no problems dishing out pain. He was so lost in the moment, and to the pleasure, that he didn’t think twice about hurting Sam but, afterwards…afterwards Dean was always guilty, apologising even though Sam always assured him that he liked it, had asked for it, and Dean should have no reason feel sorry. Sam’s assurances never stopped Dean from spending the next couple of days trying to make things up to Sam in any way he could. Sam loved that Dean cared enough about him to worry about the ways he hurt him; about the things that, years ago - before Hell, he had promised never to do. Sam supposed that if Dean ever stopped feeling bad about hurting him, that would be when Sam really had to start worrying.

‘No,’ Dean barked. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Sam. I should have…’

Dean was rambling and Sam really didn’t want him ruining his post orgasmic bliss.

‘It’s okay, De, I wanted it,’ Sam said, cutting through his brother’s unneeded apologies. He cracked his eyes open slightly and smiled seductively up at his brother as he rocked his hips forward so he could rub their soft dicks together.

Dean let his hand fall from where it had been hovering over Sam’s shoulder, his head falling forward as he tore his gaze away from Sam’s.

‘Not helping, Sam,’ he growled, shifting away from Sam slightly so they weren’t touching in some overly sensitive places.

Smiling in triumph, Sam nuzzled back down, pushing himself against Dean’s chest, ready to sleep the night away in the protective cage his brother’s arms made around him.

‘Go to sleep, Dean. Fix me up the morning,’ he mumbled into the crook of Dean’s neck.

Dean remained awkwardly stiff in Sam’s embrace and Sam knew that Dean was waiting for him to fall asleep so he could try and sneak a look at his shoulder. He really was an idiot if he thought Sam would sleep through Dean disinfecting and re-stitching his wound. After five minutes of what felt like being pressed up against a steel girder that had been draped in silk. Sam let out a frustrated groan and tipped his head back slightly, so that when he spoke Dean would be able to hear his words clearly, ‘Sleep, Dean, or I’m gonna kick you in the shins.’

The threat hung in the air and Dean knew Sam would. Memories of a teenage Sam surged to the front of his mind; a Sam who was all gangly limbs and when they were forced to share a bed Dean normally woke in the morning with bruises in places that would have been hard to explain if their Dad hadn’t seen everything first hand. John Winchester had found the whole thing funny, even more so when Dean would hobble around in the morning after receiving a particularly hard kick to the shins. With a put-upon groan, Dean slumped back onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist to pull him tight against him. Smiling, Sam closed his eyes and let sleep begin to claim him once more. The feel of Dean’s lips brushing against his forehead in a gentle kiss, and his brother mumbling ‘night, Sammy’ into his hair was the last thing Sam registered before he slipped into a dreamless sleep, smile on his lips, happy and content, if only for a moment.


	17. Devil On My Shoulder, Lucifer In My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I don't own anything to do with Supernatural and I should warn that there are some religious themes in this chapter and they are quite negative towards God but i hope you enjoy this and don't mind the lack of Sam and Dean to much. Thanks again to Ciar again for being my beta reader.
> 
> Oh and the song Lucifer sings is South of Heaven by Slayer with you can find here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtLvlaGJJEU .

With a heavy sigh, Hope stood, pulling her jacket on in one quick movement, the bed creaking slightly as she did. The room was dim; the curtains, drawn hastily in their rush for privacy, dulled the late afternoon sun. Night was fast approaching and she should really be heading back to her own room, there was a witch on the loose and she needed to try and get at least a few steps ahead of the Winchesters. The room’s only other occupant groaned behind her but Hope didn’t spare the sleeping man much thought. Instead, she took the few steps across the room to look in the dingy mirror that hung opposite the bed, gazing at her reflection analytically. She looked tired, her eyes had shadows underneath them; the weeks without sleep finally starting to show. She should crawl back to her room and sleep until the sun came up again, but the hour’s nap she had grabbed on the drive here had been proof enough that her own mind was out to betray her at every available point.

Leaning against the small table in front of her, Hope brought a hand up to rub at the skin around her eyes, wondering how much longer she could last before she finally passed out for a few days. She didn’t suppose that her being unconscious would go down too well with the Winchesters and she would have an awful lot of explaining to do when she woke up. The man in the bed shifted again, rolling onto his front, his snoring getting annoyingly loud. The movement pulled her gaze away from her own tired reflection and over to the human-shaped lump in the bed. She hadn’t planned any of this but she had been on edge; the memories of Judas and the stupidest decision she had ever made had been so fresh in her mind that she could hardly cope, feeling worried that it would all come crashing back down on her again. So she had gone looking for a distraction, a way to relieve some of the tension that had been weighing her down ever since she had gotten in that damned car to put up with Dean’s suspicious, and less than surreptitious, glances for almost the entire drive. She had just needed to do something where she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to remember who she was and what she had done. She hadn’t planned on Sam seeing her.

Hope had been sure that the brothers would have been all over each other the moment their motel room door had shut. Dean had seemed desperate to work off some of his own tension and who better than his little brother to help him relax. But five minutes later, Sam had been slipping from their room and, despite her best efforts to get the man she’d chosen back to his room, things had gone too slow and Sam had seen too much. Hope knew she would have some explaining to do the next time she saw Sam and, in the meantime, she could only hope that he didn’t tell Dean. Dean Winchester really didn’t need another reason to hate her. No, that was wrong, he didn’t hate her, he just didn’t trust her. They were two completely different things and she could easily get past his distrust.

With an exasperated sigh, Hope pushed away from the table, her fingers automatically wrapping around the small wad of notes the man had left for her. One-hundred bucks for a couple of hours of some of the best sex this guy would probably ever have. She wasn’t being arrogant; she was just that good. Well, just that good and it helped that she could read minds: she always knew what worked best, what got them off harder and faster than they thought possible, what had them begging for more and willing to do anything she asked of them just to get it. Hope shoved the clump of notes into her back pocket and tried to stamp down on the small wave of disgust that churned her stomach. She hadn’t asked for the money, the guy had just assumed she was that kind of woman. Even though it would break Castiel’s heart to think she would sink so low, who was she to turn down free cash? Not that she really understood much about the value of money; it hadn’t been used as a currency since she was 11.

‘Prostitution, your daddy would be so proud.’ 

Letting her eyes slip closed, Hope hung her head, groaning in annoyance as she tried to will herself to ignore the man behind her, something that was easier said than done.

‘But, then again, I guess it’s a step up for you. At least you left him breathing.’

Hope’s eyes snapped open as Lucifer’s smug words struck a nerve that she hadn’t known she had, not until he had touched on something that made her feel so much shame.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ she rasped, acting on instinct and humiliation.

The moment the words left her lips, Hope regretted it. She should have just kept her trap shut and left the room; gone and found something else to distract her, something else to keep her mind busy. Leaning forward again, Hope braced herself against the table, her eyes locking on her reflection - she should make a run for it. She watched as Lucifer walked up behind her, his eyes alight with a wicked glint, his pale lips pulled up in a smug smile.

‘I bet he would be soooo disappointed,’ he drawled, dragging out the ‘o’ and purring against her ear as he leaned forward, his arms bracketing hers as he placed his hands on either side of hers on the table, his thumbs brushing against the side of her hands.

He was close, so close that Hope could feel the coldness radiating off of him, penetrating through her jacket and sinking into her skin. She felt trapped, caged with no way of escape, just how it had been all those years ago in Hell. She had given into him then and she knew, right down to her black twisted mess of a soul, that she was capable of doing the same now.

He was watching her in the mirror, their eyes locked as he shifted behind her, pressing up tight against her back. Slowly he raised his left hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his cool fingers ghosting against her skin.

‘I mean, look at you. You’re not even human, not anymore,’ he purred seductively.

His words felt like shards of ice being rammed into her heart, ringing with a truth she wished wasn’t so. She wasn’t human, not completely anyway. She had spent too many years doing the worst things imaginable, her soul being twisted into something ugly and unrecognisable. He was right, her father would be disappointed. No, maybe that wasn’t the right word. He would be horrified, disgusted with what she had become and what had happened to his little princess. More like his little monster now.

‘You’re nothing more than an abomination, a thing that he’d hunt,’ Lucifer hissed the last part, his eyes never leaving hers as he tilted his head closer to her exposed neck, his cold breath making her skin prickle.

She felt sick, her mind betraying her as it ran through a thousand cases of ‘what if’. What if he knew how low she had sunk? What if he ever found out about the darkness she had allowed to consume her? Hope didn’t think she would survive him knowing all of this for long.

‘Given half the chance, he’d probably chop your head off.’

Lucifer stated it so straightforwardly, so sure of what he was saying, and Hope knew it was true, knew Lucifer was right. If her father ever found out what she was, he would kill her before she could even open her mouth to explain.

Scrunching her eyes closed, Hope tried her best to ignore the ache in her heart. It felt like her heart was breaking all over again with the same crushing, gut-wrenching feeling she got the day she had the vision of her parents’ death. She felt like her whole world was ending again and she was back to being that pathetic little girl standing on the porch of a rundown shack, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for the people she loved most to come back to her and knowing that they never would. But she supposed that, no matter how much time had passed, she had never really stopped being that little girl. Inside, she would always be that sad, angry child, hoping for the impossible to happen but only ever finding heartache and a whole lot of blood and misery. Story of her life really.

Soft lips brushed against her neck, making her skin prickle and her heart race. She felt him smile against her neck, felt those wicked lips forming the one word that had followed her through her life against her sensitive skin.

‘Monster,’ he whispered, before placing a gentle open-mouthed kiss against the bottom of her jaw, his teeth scratching lightly against the skin.

Anger shot through Hope like a wild fire, consuming her. In one quick move, her eyes snapped open and she spun round, grabbing Lucifer’s arm and shoving him to the side. She slammed him against the wall next to the mirror, her other hand wrapping tightly around his throat.

‘I said. Shut. Up,’ Hope growled. Her whole body was tense, her lips pulled up into a wicked sneer.

He was still smirking, not showing any sign that he even felt the tight grip she had on his neck, and that just wouldn’t do. She wanted to choke the life out of him. She wanted to see him turn red, gasping for air, all that smug arrogance just melting away as he pleaded for his life. For once in her pathetic life, she wanted to be the one in control, she wanted to be the most powerful, to be everything the prophesies said she would be and more…so much more. For once, she wanted the world to answer to her instead of the other way around. She wanted angels, demons, the gods of old, all grovelling at her feet, pledging their allegiance and begging for her forgiveness.

‘Careful now, love, your demon’s showing.’

Lucifer’s voice was full of amusement, not showing any of the strain it should, considering how tight her hold was on his throat. He should be gasping for breath by now.

Hope growled menacingly and tightened her hold, nails digging into his skin, the soft crunch of bone giving way audible, yet still he continued to smile. His eyes sparkled as he leant forward, pushing against her hold.

‘Black always did look good on you though.’ His smirk was wicked, his voice taunting her.

A flicker of movement in the mirror caught her attention, her eyes instantly darting away from Lucifer. To her surprise, the mirror was covered in a thin sheet of ice. She hadn’t really been paying attention to what was going on around her but, now that she was, Hope could feel that the temperature in the room had dropped quite dramatically. She could still see her reflection though, could see the black pools that had been green eyes. And the twisted, animalistic sneer she was wearing, her white teeth showing… oh gods, what was she doing.

Jerking back, Hope let her hand drop as if she had been burned. She wanted to be sick, to claw at her own head and gouge the wicked thoughts from her mind. She had really thought she could be someone who had no desire to be anything more than what she was, to become more than she ever should be. She was trying to save the world not send it further into damnation than it already was.

Lucifer’s mocking laughter rang in her ears as he leant back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and his throat showing no signs that her hand had just been wrapped around it. Turning away from him, Hope ran a shaking hand through her hair as she tried to stop herself from falling to her knees and giving into the temptation to crawl into a dark corner and hide from the world. The Devil’s words had hit a little too close to home.

‘You’re not real,’ she whispered, her voice dripping with desperation. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything else, pleading with him to confirm what she needed to be true.

‘You can’t touch what’s not real,’ Lucifer called from behind her, his voice light and playful.

Glancing down, Hope slowly lifted her hands, looking at them in horror. She could still feel his cold skin beneath hers, feel his Adam’s apple digging into her palm. The spot on her neck where he had brushed his lips against was tingling, the phantom brush of his lips still lingering on her skin. It wasn’t possible: she shouldn’t be able to feel him, he was nothing more than her broken mind lashing out at her and if she was starting to feel her hallucinations, then she was losing her grip on reality a lot quicker than she had expected. Well, that or she was starting to think him into existence and that just wasn’t possible, she didn’t have that kind of power.

‘Anything is possible, love.’

As Lucifer’s cool and calm voice washed over her, Hope let her hands fall back to her sides. She needed to get out of here, get away from this living hell and fast, before she finally broke. What she needed was to eat something that wasn’t tainted with a thousand years of hate and wickedness, something pure and good, not something that had been built on lies and sin. She needed balance.

Without paying Lucifer, and his taunting words, any more attention than she already had Hope spun on her heels and darted for the motel room door, yanking it open and disappearing out into the cold, early evening air. Momentarily blinded by the last of the setting sun, as it sank behind the buildings across the road, Hope squeezed her eyelids tightly closed, raising her hand to cover her eyes.

When she lowered her arm, the town that lay before her was far from where she had been just seconds ago. The sky was dark, night having fallen hours before, the surrounding streets quiet except for the sound of falling rain. Hope stood and let the heavy rain soak through her clothes, not really caring as the water flattened her hair to her head and her jeans began to cling to her legs in an uncomfortable way. She was too entranced by the old church that loomed up in front of her. She had often found a sick, twisted sort of comfort in the few remaining shells of places like these that existed in her time. She had always been mesmerised by the beauty of the centuries of lost architecture and faith. The buildings had felt safe and she had been comforted by the paintings of angels that had long since fallen to the monsters that ruled their world or to her sweet words and whispered promises of things she knew would never come to pass.

But she had also felt anger, betrayal, as every second she stayed there reminded her of the God that had abandoned this world, abandoned His children, to a fate worse than death. A God that was supposed to take care of and protect His creations; crap job He had made of it. But amongst the hate and anger, the pain and suffering, there had been moments, small fleeting moments where she had felt truly safe. She could remember staring up at the crude coloured-glass image of Castiel, pictured in his atypical trench coat, head held high and a halo of grace shining behind him. To her despairing eyes, it had looked magnificent, so much like the being she had heard tales of, and she had felt so desperate that she had considered falling to her knees and pledging her everlasting devotion to him.  He hadn’t been so fond of the reminder of how low he had once sunk. Hope had had little choice but to watch as he took a brick to the once-beautiful creation, smashing it into a thousand pieces. Once he had run out of steam, his throat screamed raw, he had stormed from the building, shrugging off any attempt Hope made to comfort him. Left alone, she had slowly assessed the damage, picking her way through rubble and shattered glass, trying to find pieces of the window so she could salvage at least some of its beauty. As she had moved a piece of rotten wood, something flashed bright at her, shining in the seemingly never ending sunshine. Hope had been amazed to find the oval piece of blue glass intact and had quickly scrambled back to her abandoned bag, digging out her old, and practically falling apart, copy of _Mystery Spot_ , shoving the small piece of glass between its faded pages. As far as she knew, Castiel had never found out that she kept a part of something he had called ugly and wicked, something she had seen as magnificent, and she hoped he never would. She couldn’t imagine it would be a pleasant conversation, but she supposed that it didn’t really matter anymore, the Castiel she knew was long gone by now.

Closing her eyes, Hope took a deep breath as her traitorous mind seemed to finally fall silent. She let the cold rain soak through her clothes and slide off her skin. Until she arrived in this time, it had been so long since she had seen rain, let alone felt fresh water against her skin, that she felt tempted to stand there all night and let the smell, sound, and feel of it surround her. Just let it wash away all the pain and suffering that had been building up inside of her over her lifetime. She wanted forget everything that ever was, or was going to be, but she couldn’t do that. She was here for a reason, both in this time and this very spot. The balance was important, it was the only thing keeping her from losing herself completely to the darkness that festered inside of her, barely kept at bay by stolen grace. 

Deciding that it was now or never, Hope darted across the road and bounded up the church steps, shoving the heavy doors open with a well-practiced mix of brute force and magic. Stumbling through the open door, she instantly missed the feel of the rain against her skin. She stood there for a few minutes contemplating whether she should just slip back outside and let the rain wash away the feel of that monster against her skin but, before she could turn back round, a wide-eyed priest hurried down the aisle of the chapel, brandishing a towel at her.

‘Ach, you must be foundered,’ he exclaimed.

The priest’s Irish accent was strong and pleasant. Smiling, in a manner that she hoped was amiable, Hope nodded her thanks to him and squeezed at her dripping hair with the old towel. Her eyes  roamed over the man standing in front of her, her gaze taking in everything on the surface and what was hidden deep within. The priest was old, probably in his late fifties, his grey hair was cut short and his skin pale and wrinkled with distinctive crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. His blue eyes were full of concern, looking at her expectantly. She could understand why. Young women probably didn’t just turn up on church doorsteps in the middle of the night.

‘Thank you, Father,’ Hope replied, using her sweetest voice, smiling gently, and looking up at him through her eyelashes. She was really pushing the sweet innocent look, her eyes wide with honesty she didn’t possess, trying her hardest to hide the black and tainted thing she called a soul. It was a look she had perfected over the years she had spent rounding up the last of humanity, getting them to trust her even when she didn’t trust herself.

He smiled at her, jerking his head slightly towards the front of the church, indicating that she should follow him, before he turned and headed towards the altar. Neither one of them spoke as they walked down the aisle and, in all honesty, Hope was paying more attention to the building’s windows than the man next to her. She had never been in a church that was completely intact, that still had everything in it that it was meant to.

‘You must be freezing - come on and sit down. I’ll get you something hot to drink,’ he said soothingly.

Hope hummed her understanding as she slipped onto the wooden pew he had waved at. The old man nodded briskly before turning to hurry towards the sacristy, pausing only to genuflect as he passed the altar.

Hope could feel the man’s agitation, but his misgivings about her turning up, soaked and alone, were not all there was to sense. She noticed a slight tinge of worry laying just underneath his other feelings and he should be worried; he should be scared, terrified even. She was going to make the next few minutes of his life a living hell and the sad part was that it would be the last thing he ever knew. He wasn’t going to live to see the sun rise.

The sound of quick footsteps pulled Hope away from staring at the carving of Jesus hanging proudly on the wall behind the altar, centre stage for all to see. His arms were spread wide, his head tilted down as he looked down at all his worshipers with sympathetic eyes. Well, she assumed his expression was supposed to be sympathetic but to her it looked condescending. The great man who had sacrificed everything to deliver the people of Earth into the wide open arms of God. The Son, the Saviour, whatever people called him now, it was all bollocks. Where was he now? Where was the great Redeemer? The same place as his loving, merciful Father probably. He damned well wasn’t here when he was needed most, that was for sure. People and their blind faith, putting all their trust and devotion in a being that had little to no interest in them. When the world had burned into a blackened husk, and humanity was on the brink of extinction, Heaven had not come to offer aid. It had been left to her to clean up the mess that the world had become. She had been the one to forfeit everything, she had been the one who humanity had turned to. She was the one who was going to die for them.

Hope slumped slightly in her seat, the weight that had been placed on her shoulders was finally starting to feel unbearably heavy on her shoulders. She felt incredibly tired and her overriding desire was for all this to be over with now. This had been her existence for far too long, she didn’t really know, or remember well, a life other than the one that had been forced on her at too young an age and it was really starting to show. Things that people – in this time – would consider wrong and depraved were second nature to her, an everyday occurrence in her time and, despite the faith Castiel had shown in her, Hope doubted she would last long in this place without her true nature slipping through.

Turning to look at the still apprehensive priest, Hope smiled gently taking the cup he was offering her. The rich smell of coffee mundane and familiar to her now despite living in this time for only a few weeks. The cup was warm against her cool fingers, burning away the feel of Lucifer’s throat under her hands. Hope sipped at the hot liquid, never taking her eyes off the priest, watching as he sank down into the pew next to her, a respectable foot’s distance between them. Sitting straight, he began to rub his hands together, his eyes glancing from her to the statue of Jesus, probably looking for some kind of guidance as to where to begin. She knew he could sense the darkness, the taint, inside of her; he might be able to feel the grace as well and it more than likely confused the hell out of him: his senses not knowing what to make of this woman who wasn’t quite human.

‘It’s very late, your family must be worried about you,’ he said, softly, his tone of voice designed to soothe any worry one of his parishioners might have, but all it managed to do was amuse Hope; God’s good graces completely wasted on her.

Hope smiled sadly at him from over the rim of her cup before speaking just as softly as he had but with an air of indifference, ‘Don’t have any.’

It was true and she had no problem admitting it.

He shifted in his seat, body language uneasy and his eyes avoiding hers. How he had ever thought he could keep up pretending to be a priest was beyond her, his lack of understanding when it came to human emotion was surely going to make things hard.

‘I’m sorry to hear such a…sad thing,’ he replied.

Shrugging, Hope placed the cup down on the bench next to her, her eyes once again finding the image of Christ. ‘It’s okay. They died so long ago that I can barely remember them.’ It was a lie, she remembered them: she could remember the omnipresent smell of leather and motor oil, the piles of old books, and her father’s gentle touch as he brushed her hair, teaching her Latin as he ran the brush and then his fingers through her hair. She remembered enough to know that those six years were the best years of her life.

Hope was growing bored of this game, slowly she let the well-built walls, that she kept up to hide her true being, fall. She exposed what she truly was to the being she had been toying with ever since she had gotten here. It was better to get this over with as quickly as possible, for both of therm. The priest gasped as he finally got a true glimpse of what she was, stumbling in his haste to get up from his seat and away from her as quickly as possible. She let him stumble as he began to run towards the altar. She felt him draw on his grace, feeling as well as seeing the disturbance in the air as his wings began to spread, ready to take flight and flee back to his superiors, to inform Raphael of her whereabouts and she couldn’t have that. That pompous dick didn’t need to know what was coming for him, not yet any way.

Hope sighed as she pushed herself up off the pew, her eyes never leaving the man as he ran. She had been hoping this was going to be easy because she wasn’t really up for a chase; she just wanted this over with already so she could go look for answers that she knew she would never find at the bottom of a bottle or ten. Taking a step towards the aisle, her skin prickled as she blink-moved from the spot where she had been to one right in front of the scared angel. He skidded to a stop, eyes wide as his dark wings spread out behind him. Before he could take flight, Hope swung her arm up and slammed her palm against the centre of his chest to send him flying backwards down the aisle.

As he landed on the steps leading up to the altar, the marble cracked beneath the force of his landing. The sound of his skull hitting the stone was just as loud and, if he had been human, Hope knew he would be dead with blood (and possibly brains) leaking from the back of his head and pooling on the floor around him. Lucky for both of them he wasn’t. Before he could recover, Hope was on him, wrapping her hand around his wrist and yanking him onto his knees, moving to twist his arm back behind him at the same time.

Crying out, the angel looked up at her in disgust, his eyes glowing with the power of his grace. Hope knew what he was planning on doing, an inbuilt defence that would leave her blinded with her eyes melted in their sockets and her ears bleeding. It was a dirty trick that they mostly used only on demons but, despite the amount of demon blood she had in her, it wouldn’t work.

Acting quickly, and probably unnecessarily viciously, Hope shoved her free hand over his shoulder, reaching through the physical plane and into the one where the angel’s wings existed in their true, magnificent glory. Her hand brushed against something, sending sparks of electricity shooting up her arm. It felt like the burning heat of fire and the biting cold of ice all rolled into one, solid yet insubstantial. It was pure power, pure grace, humming around her hand. Wrapping her fingers around the sweeping curve of the top of his left wing, Hope gripped it tightly, her nails digging in as she yanked her arm back sharply. The sickening sound of something vital snapping followed her movement but it was barely audible over the agonising screams coming from the angel, echoing off the church walls as he threw his head back and clenched his eyes closed.

Hope let go of his wing and pulled both her hands back watching as the angel slumped forward, pulling the arm she was sure she had broken against his chest, and cradling it with the other. He looked pathetic, hunched over, head hanging as he pulled in deep, unnecessary gasps of air. She could easily feel the pain radiating off of him. Lightning flashed across the dark sky outside, illuminating area of the altar and briefly, for just a second, Hope caught a glimpse of the shadow of wings. One wing was spread out wide, as if ready to take flight whilst the other lay limp and trailing out behind him, sticking out at an odd angle that really didn’t look comfortable. He wouldn’t be going anywhere now and they both knew it.

Sighing, Hope slowly moved into a crouched position, moving slowly so as not to further alarm the being in front of her but he still flinched away from her. In all honesty, Hope hadn’t been expecting him to run. She had grown used to angels seeking her out, looking for the easy and relatively painless escape. They would rather her, and her gentle (but deadly) caress, then spending months in the hands of Judas; at least she could offer them mercy.

Hope rested her hands on her knees as she tilted her head down slightly so she could see his face better.

‘Hello Matthew,’ she said his name softly, recognising the feel of his grace from when they had done this before, in her time. But on that occasion she had been saving him from a future of never-ending pain, she hadn’t been the one to cause it.

He looked up at her with wide, blue eyes, his vessel humming with a mix of confusion and fear. ‘H…how di…did you…’ he stammered out.

Smiling sadly, Hope reached out trying her best to ignore the way he flinched away from her. ‘We’ve been here once before, you and I,’ she replied, keeping her voice soft as she placed her hand on his injured arm, her fingers loosely wrapping around his wrist. Giving the action hardly any thought, Hope wrapped her own twisted version of grace around his arm. A white light began to glow softly from underneath her palm as she healed the damage she had done to his arm. Healing his wing…that was another matter entirely; no matter how much she wanted to she would never be able to fix that.

Hope let her hand fall back to her knee and then kept as still as possible, watching as Matthew slowly moved his arm, rolling his shoulder and flexing his wrist. Healing his wrist was a small gesture meant to ease his worry, and ease her guilt, if only slightly.

‘I’m sorry about your wing,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s nothing personal, just couldn’t have you running off and letting your brothers know where I was.’

Snapping his head up, Matthew looked at her with panic. Hope felt the moment he realised what she was saying, what she was admitting to being. ‘You’ he gasped out, that one word holding all the accusation the Host had to offer.

Hope tried not to roll her eyes. It was always the same with angels, stating the obvious and expecting something other than what they already knew back.

‘Me,’ she stated flatly, already knowing what was coming next.

‘You killed Eva.’ It wasn’t a question. He knew it had been her and there would be no way of getting around it, not now that it was out in the open. ‘How?’ he snapped at her, demanding to know how something like her could overpower an angel who, by all rights, should be able to crush her like a bug.

Hope slowly stood up, never taking her eyes off him. She towered over the kneeling angel; it wasn’t a first for her, to have an angel at her feet. It wasn’t the first time _he_ had been kneeling before her but, on the previous occasion, he had been there willingly, begging her to kill him. Turning away from him, unable to look at the pathetic sight before her, Hope glanced around the church, looking for any kind of distraction. Her eyes settled on an old-looking painting in the far corner, the image calling out to her as recognition flashed through her mind. The angel in the picture looked fierce, sword in hand and golden wings spread out behind him. He was every inch a true warrior of God looking down at the flock of worshippers with judgment in his eyes. She felt as if the painted eyes were seeing every sin she had ever committed, and was yet to commit, judging her and disapproving of her very existence. Just like he had the first time they had met.

Turning away from the picture, Hope tried to shove the crippling feelings of guilt and disgust to the back of her mind. When she was alone, when the sky was at its darkest and her task accomplished, then she would give into the self-hate and madness that was slowly but surely consuming her and only then. She glanced down at the angel, still sitting slumped at her feet, and smiled sadly, feeling a pang of conscience concerning what she was about to do but convinced that she couldn’t avoid it: this was a necessity. The fewer followers Raphael had, the less chance there was of Castiel having to kill one of his brothers, a task he had never got used to.

‘I killed her the same way I’m going to kill you,’

Matthew’s only reaction was to tremble and, fighting the urge to groan, Hope shoved a hand through her hair in growing frustration with the angel’s tame behaviour. If she hadn’t been able to feel his grace she would have doubted that he even was an angel. He was supposed to be a fierce warrior of Heaven, not some snivelling pathetic mess huddled on the floor, whimpering like a kicked dog. He had been great once, she felt he should try and salvage some of that to give his death some form of dignity.

Hope huffed a irritated breath before speaking, ‘This is nothing personal,’ she offered. ‘I mean…if there was another way… then…’ she trailed off. Her words sounded empty and hollow, even to her, so she could only guess how they sounded to Matthew. Probably cold and offering no comfort whatsoever. Humans she could charm; could get them from suicidal to cuddly in ten seconds flat but angels…angels were always slightly harder to convince of anything other than their pre-set plan. Staunchly loyal to an absent father, a God that didn’t care whether they lived or died and, as He had proven when the end had come, He didn’t care for any of his creations. Not even the ones that had stayed loyal right up to their last breaths. Humanity must have seemed so ugly and twisted for Him to abandon them so easily to a fate worse than death. They must have been such a disappointment, not worth the loss of son. Or maybe that was why He had left, because He could see so much of Lucifer in his creation. The influence of His angelic child corrupting humanity in a way He had never imagined when He had created them.  Or maybe they were just a pathetic race.

‘What will you do to me?’ Matthew’s words pulled Hope from her inner rant and back to him, the centuries of power were finally starting to leak into his voice. He was hunched over, looking broken and resigned to his fate, his eyes filled with a dull acceptance. He knew that she would never let him leave this place alive, it was just a question of how much it would hurt before he died.

Castiel had told her once before that some things needed to be known and others could just be glossed over, the horror of what was to come should be ignored so that one’s last few moments weren’t filled with the dread of what would happen. Castiel would probably say that this was one of those moments in which less was more but she had already hurt Matthew, had already broken him. So why lie? Why deny him the knowledge of pain just because that was what she had always done before? He deserved to know, _should_ know what was coming. He should be granted a chance to try and prepare himself for the agony that was coming.

‘I’m going to rip your vessel’s soul out,’ she stated flatly, all emotion gone from her voice. It was a fact and she didn’t need to sugar coat it. Angels didn’t appreciate emotions anyway, didn’t quite understand them.

Matthew’s body pulled in on itself as the gravity of her words sank in. Deciding things would probably go better if they were eye to eye, if he could see the conflicted emotions she had about doing this, Hope sank back down into a crouch elbows resting on her thighs and her hands clasped together between her spread knees. She didn’t try and force him to meet her gaze, his head hung limply as she felt his panic rise. She had never quite gotten over the fact that she could reduce an angel to this, that her very existence terrified them. It was a heady mix of power and disgust that often left her feeling sick and tonight was no exception.

Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the painting of Gabriel, Hope began to speak, the words just tumbling from her lips. ‘It won’t hurt Father Andrew, but you…’ Swallowing around the lump that had formed in her throat, Hope hung her head in shame, closing her eyes against the images that flooded through her mind. She had done this a thousand times before but it hadn’t always gone so smoothly when she was younger. Before she had complete control over her ‘God given’ and stolen abilities things had been a lot different, a lot more bloody. She could still hear their screams, could still feel their hands clawing at her skin as they twisted and withered in agony. Could still taste their blood on her lips mixed with her tears. But you know what they say, whoever _they_ were, practise makes perfect and she was damned near close. Hope sighed before continuing her explanation, knowing that the next part would leave the angel with no doubt of the agony he was about to experience. ‘Your grace is wrapped so tight around the human’s soul that it will hurt like a thousand angel blades being shoved into your gut, repeatedly.’

Matthew shoved his head into his hands, his fingers grasping at the grey strands of hair that were left atop his vessel’s head, palms pressed against his eyes. His body was shaking and Hope could hear what sounded like choked sobs. He was crying, she was sure of it. The realisation took Hope by surprise, her eyes widening slightly. It was a rare thing for an angel to cry and she had only ever seen it happen twice before and they had been moment’s deserving of an angels tears, but this? This was only death and it came for all, even those who thought themselves invincible. Herself included. Narrowing her eyes at the angel’s abnormal reaction, Hope continued, her words becoming harsher as she once again found herself angry with the angel. She really didn’t remember Matthew being this weak before.

‘You’ve never known pain like it and you’ll probably pass out before I even manage to get my hands on the good Father’s soul.’

Matthew jerked, curling himself back against the altar steps. His eyes were puffy and red, his cheeks wet with tears. Tears of an angel were worth a dozen souls or more in her time, so rare that you could go decades without hearing even a whisper of some coming on to the market. These didn’t seem quite as valuable.

Turning away from the revolting scene in front of her, Hope looked down at the floor, concentrating on the crack in the marble.

‘But…’ she began, all anger fading, ‘…once it’s over you won’t feel a thing. It will all just end for you, like going to sleep. It will be pure bliss.’ She should stop there, he didn’t need to know what she was going to do to him once he was unconscious.

Hope turned her head slightly, chancing a look at the angel. He was staring at her with pleading eyes. She could smell the confusion and fear on him. Absently, she wondered how it would affect the taste of his blood. Trying to slam down on that vile thought and feeling appalled at how insensitive she was being, she looked away from the angel,.

‘Why?’

Matthew’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. Ignoring his question, she unlaced her fingers and braced her hands against her thighs as she pushed herself back up onto her feet. _Why?_ She had been asked that so many times before that all the answers she could possibly give had slipped away, all but one. The one that had been drilled into her since she was old enough to understand what it meant.

‘Balance’ s he mumbled, that one word weighed down with so much emotion, so many memories that she could barely start to untangle a meaning from it.

Matthew’s face creased in puzzlement. ‘I don’t…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Hope cut him off before he could go any further, turning her head so she could look directly into his eyes, hoping he could understand that she had meant what she had said before; if there had been any other way she wouldn’t be here, but there wasn’t. She just wasn’t that lucky, it went with the name she guessed.

He tilted his head in confusion at why she seemed unhappy about what she said had to be done. He squinted up at her, his mouth open slightly to form a question that Hope had no desire to answer. She just wanted this over with.

Hope chose that moment to reach out, pressing the tips of her middle and index finger against his lips as her other fingers curled into her palm, smiling softly down at him. As soon as the alarm in his eyes dulled, Hope pulled her hand away slightly, turning it so she could stroke his cheek gently with the back of her hand. With tears in her eyes, she mumbled her last apology and didn’t give him a chance to answer. She flipped her hand over and pressed the tips of her two outstretched fingers against his left temple.

Matthew’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open as he screamed in agony, the human sound quickly slipping into his true voice. Light erupted from his eyes and his open mouth, the altar window rattling as lightning flashed through the dark sky outside.

Tears fell from Hope’s eyes as she cried silently, refusing to close them and miss what was happening before her. She needed to see it, needed to commit it all to memory. She deserved to bear the weight and guilt of the grotesque things she had done. She deserved to see the horrors she had committed, every time she closed her eyes and even sometimes when they were open. She deserved to suffer.

After what felt like an eternity, Matthew’s screams finally died. The light that had consumed him flickering out as his body slumped backwards, no longer supported by the being that dwelled inside, sprawling over the steps and looking very much like a corpse. His arms were sprawled out around him, one hand up by his head and the other by his thigh. His legs were bent under him from where he had been kneeling, the angle of his knees looking painful. But what held Hope’s attention were the black wings of ash that were spread out across the steps and stage. They were beautiful.

His head was tilted to the side, mouth open on a silent scream, the unmistakeable mark of Hope’s fingers burned onto the side of his head, standing out clearly against his pale skin. All he had now were empty, bloody sockets; his vessel’s eyes having been burned from his skull as she had forcibly ripped the human’s soul out. He looked dead, and for all intents and purposes he was, but Hope could still feel his grace humming gently from within. Matthew was still there but only just.

Hope lifted her hand and stared in wonder at the glowing orb that was Father Andrew’s soul. The human soul was a beautiful thing and it never failed to amaze her every time she held one in her hands. It always managed to remind her that humans, no matter how much she hated them and no matter how flawed they were, were still truly beautiful at their core. Uncurling her fingers, Hope held her hand out, willing the ball of light to move. Slowly, it began to rise, floating up towards the roof and heaven beyond. It seemed that Father Andrew was destined for a better place than this. Hope watched as the light vanished through the ceiling and disappeared from sight, already missing the gentle heat it had been emitting that had warmed her to her core. Letting her hand drop, Hope took a deep breath and looked back down at the mutilated angel at her feet.

‘Ouch,’ Lucifer mumbled, as he walked past her and up the steps next to the unconscious angel.

Her eyes tracked his shoes; it was a sad thing that she recognised him just from the scuff on the leather boots, the ghost of her mind. As soon as he was out of sight, Hope darted her eyes back to the body in front of her. She needed to move quickly, there was no telling how much attention that little stunt had attracted and she couldn’t afford to be caught now, not by the cops or an inquisitive angel.

_’An unforeseen future nestled somewhere in time,_

_Unsuspecting victims no warnings no signs,_

_Judgment day the second coming arrives,_

_Before you see the light you must die.’_

 

’Hope clenched her hands into tight fists at her sides, Lucifer’s familiar voice washing over her. She recognised the song, not that she had heard the actual thing before, but he had sung the words to her at least a dozen times before. The first had been whilst she had still been in the Pit. She had been there for years, decades even, and he had wanted to celebrate their ‘time’ together with a twisted imitation of a grand ball of old. He had swayed her gently, as he whispered the words into her neck, her body limp in his arms as he tugged at the hooks that had been shoved through her wrists and the back of her head, strung up like puppet, nothing more than a toy to him. Not much had changed over the years.

Hope looked up from Matthew’s body and levelled Lucifer with a cold glare. He had moved back into the sanctuary behind the altar and was leaning back against the gold doors of the tabernacle, one leg pulled up so his foot was resting against the linen-covered top of the altar. He held a shiny red apple loosely in the hand that lay against his thigh. He was smiling smugly as he sang, tapping his foot against the altar in time with the song. Growling low in her throat, Hope quickly dragged her eyes away from her tormenter as she moved around Matthew’s body.

Lucifer continued to sing.

 

‘ _Forgotten children conform a new faith,_

_Avidity and lust controlled by hate,_

_The never ending search for your shattered sanity,_

_Souls of damnation in their own reality.’_

Dropping to her knees on Matthew’s right side, Hope snapped her fingers before she quickly rolled up his black sleeve. She gritted her teeth as she tried to concentrate; she was desperate to get this over with as soon as possible but the task was made much harder by the task of trying to ignore Lucifer, something she had never been able to do, not completely any way.

Lucifer’s performance wasn’t affected by his audience’s lack of interest.

 

‘ _Chaos rampant,_

_An age of distrust,_

_Confrontations,_

_Impulsive habitat_.’

 

Hope bit down on her bottom lip and willed herself not to look, not to talk to him, because as soon as she acknowledged him it would be hours, if not days, before she managed to get rid of him again and she couldn’t take that right now.

_‘Bastard sons begat your cunting daughters,_

_Promiscuous mothers with incestuous fathers,_

_Ingrate souls condemned for all eternity,_

_Obtained by immoral observance a domineering deity.’_

Darting her hand out to the side, Hope curled her fingers around one of the blood bags she had willed into existence, yanking it down so she could get started on her task. But Lucifer’s singing was ringing in her ears, slowly starting to sink in. She would take about ten pints of blood before she gave Matthew that final push and sent him on his way to wherever good little angels go when they die. Ten pints would be enough to keep her going for a few days more than if she drank it all now. She needed to keep the body count down as much as possible and that meant bigger gaps between hits. Well, that or she needed to start hiding the bodies better.

_‘The root of all evil is the heart of a black soul,_

_A force that has lived all eternity_

_The never ending search for a truth never told,_

_The loss of all hope and your dignity.’_

Hope grabbed Matthew’s wrist, and willed a canula into existence. She pulled his arm straight as she went to shove the needle into a waiting vein. But as the tip of the canula hovered over the vein she stopped, Lucifer’s words finally sinking in.

She was the domineering deity, the root of all evil, the loss of all hope.

This wasn’t right, none of what she had done was. She had slaughtered thousands of angels without a second thought and all because she needed their power, their blood to survive. She had almost single-handily eradicated them off the face of the Earth in her time and now she was setting out to do the same here. She was a walking death sentence.

Sixty years from now, she was considered merciful and caring, but the truth was she was a murderer; a vicious, spiteful murderer whose victims had all come to her willingly. Well, towards the end they had. She had killed them for their blood, for the power it granted her. She had killed them to satisfy a hunger that was rooted so deeply in her very existence that Hope wasn’t sure she would ever be able to stop, not even if she wanted to, and the sad part was that trying would probably kill her.

She killed angels and people worshiped her for it, seemingly forgetting that the reason she was killing them was less than pure. And, stupid, foolish people that they were, they had all put their lives in her hands and she had willingly accepted each and every soul, all the while knowing that she couldn’t be trusted with them. Hope ran a shaking hand over her face and shoved at the hair that had fallen across her eyes. She couldn’t indulge in this self-loathing right now. She could have her break down once she was back at the motel and it was just her and Lucifer, her very own personal Devil on her shoulder.

Placing the needle against Matthew’s vein, Hope shoved it in. She let Lucifer’s voice wash over her as he continued to sing loudly and obnoxiously. Forgetting herself, she began humming along to the familiar words as she lost herself in the task at hand. Her self-hatred faded to nothing more than a gentle hum at the back of her mind, buried under the far more powerful feelings of hunger and urgency. It didn’t matter what Castiel said, or how many times he and Gabriel told her otherwise, she was a monster. Just as much a monster as Judas, maybe even more so because she had given people hope. She had let them believe there was a future for them, a chance at happiness, and then she had ripped it all away, and left them to feel the full force of Hell as it collided into the safe haven she had built for them. Monster. That was all she was and all she was ever going to be.

Something had gone wrong, somewhere along the line she had taken a wrong turn and ended up here, like this. Now she was nothing more than a pale imitation of a human, the shadow of a person.

She was the monster at the end of the story.

_‘On and on south of heaven,_

_On and on south of heaven,_

_On and on south of heaven,_

_On and on south of heaven.’_


	18. If This Is Life I Want My Money Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hay guys, I know this has taken a long time and I'm sorry about that but, finally, here it is, the next chapter. as always thank you to Ciar for being my beta reader and keeping me on track.   
> i don't own nothing to do with the show or any characters affiliated with it, i just use them to fulfill my whims.

Dean watched with avid attention as Sam moved around the small room, gathering up clothes that had been haphazardly thrown around the night before. Sam’s long hair was still damp, from the shower he had insisted on having before he would let Dean anywhere near his mangled shoulder, water dripped from the ends and slid down his naked torso, disappearing into the waistband of his low-slung jeans.

The bruises scattered across Sam’s body were starting to fade, they were more of a dull purple now instead of the former deep colour that had seemed almost black in some places. Dean could still make out the lingering mark of fingers curled high around Sam’s neck though, the circular imprint from the gun as clear as a target in the middle of his forehead. Sam’s whole left side was a mottled mix of purple and yellow but none of that was important right at this moment. 

Narrowing his eyes, Dean watched his brother, closely. Sam was barely moving his right arm, instead keeping it cradled tight against his side.

Dean had tried the night before to be as gentle as he could; the guilt he felt about letting that woman touch him, and about having been too slow to protect Sam from that monster, had made him want to go slow. Dean had intended on being tender with his brother, and showing him how much he was loved, with soft kisses and light caresses but Sam had wanted none of it. And, with Sam’s encouragement, Dean had given into his darker desires, taking Sam for everything he could, making his younger brother moan in a mixture of pain and pleasure. 

Being on exactly the same page as Sam the night before had bled off some of the guilt that Dean had been feeling but now, the morning after, Dean was feeling more than a little sordid when he remembered how far he’d let himself go with Sam. It left him wanting to pull Sam back into bed so he could wrap himself around his little brother and hold on tight. More often than he felt comfortable admitting, Dean wanted reassurance that Sam was okay and that they could be together without violence and darker desires taking over.

Dean suppressed the urge to sigh as he pushed himself off the bed and headed for the bathroom, and the relative safety it offered, closing the door behind him with a soft click. 

Dean was thankful for the temporary barrier it provided between him and his brother. He loved Sam, and he had no problem admitting to himself that he couldn’t survive without him, but looking at Sam right now reminded him of how he had failed his brother, not only lately but at other times in their lives. 

Dean had grown up knowing that it was his job to protect Sam, his job to keep him safe, but, despite his best intentions it hadn’t always worked out: Sam had died (and not just once), had been to Hell and back, had been Lucifer’s play thing in the Pit, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. And, deep down, Dean felt responsible, he felt that if he had done his job, like he promised their Dad, if he had managed to keep Sam safe, then things could have been different; not only for his brother but for both of them. 

Bracing himself against the grimy looking sink, Dean stared at his reflection in the discoloured mirror. Hard eyes stared back at him. A lifetime of hunting, living in a world of kill or be killed, his history of being dragged off to Hell was all written as clear as day across his features right now. He looked tired, older, the wrinkles starting to show around his eyes were harder to ignore today. Exterior signs developing to match the interior scars caused by the constant battle his life had become ever since he had gone and got Sam from Stanford. 

Dean turned away from his reflection and shoved a shaky hand through his hair. The sensation of blunt nails scratching over his scalp felt jarring as he tried to control the disorder of his thoughts. 

When his mood was low like this, it felt like his life was so fucked up, and that things had been turned on their heads so many times, that he couldn’t really tell which way was up and which way was down. He hated it when the feeling of dread took hold, telling him that at every corner something big and bad was waiting for them. 

When he felt overwhelmed like this, he worried about how much more of this life he could take before he was carted off to the crazy farm or he put a bullet between his own eyes. 

When he was younger, he had loved hunting, loved the simplicity; he’d known he was fighting the good fight, saving people who couldn’t save themselves, making the world a safer place. He’d thrived on the chase and the nomadic lifestyle but the literal Hell of the last few years, and the way that as soon as they fixed one world-ending problem another was waiting in the shadows to pop up in its place, made it harder and harder for him. He’d had to watch as the people he cared most about risked their lives again and again and for what? For the sake of humanity? To ensure that the world kept on turning as people expected? If people wanted the world to stay the same then maybe they should get off their asses and save their own sorry lives for once, instead of waiting for the Winchesters to do it for them.

Sighing, Dean turned back to the sink, making sure to avoid his reflection, not wanting to face the man he knew would be reflected back at him. He turned on the water, letting it run until it was good and cold, before shoving his cupped hands underneath the stream. Splashing the icy water over his face, Dean began the familiar process of working to shove all his guilt and anger aside. 

He tried to ignore the nagging thoughts of how different his and Sammy’s lives could have been if Sam had said no to him when Dean had rocked up at Stanford begging him to come back, or even if Dean had refused to go with Sam when the soulless shell of his brother had turned up on his and Lisa’s doorstep. Though, after everything he had seen his brother do when his soul was missing, Dean wouldn’t have been surprised if, had he said no, Sam had gone ahead and kidnapped him, or even permanently put Lisa and Ben out of the way, to get what he wanted. 

Dean had experienced an alternate life for Sam. Trapped in the Djinn’s vision years ago, he had seen some of what they might have been if they’d never been Hunters. And, yeah, maybe Sam’s life might not have been as happy as Dean would have wanted had he become a lawyer, married Jess and had three kids (plus a dog), living the American Dream in the suburbs. And Dean knew that eventually Lisa would have wanted to get married, maybe even have their own kid, and he could have tried opening up his own garage and maybe…maybe he and Sam would have never have seen each other ever again. 

Shutting the water off, Dean chanced a glance at his reflection: water dripped down his face, as his lips set themselves in a grim line and his eyes glared back at him. He looked like the man he was and would always be: a hunter, a fighter, a survivor. 

Who was he kidding, he would always be this. In his heart, he knew he couldn’t do ‘normal’, he had tried it with Lisa and look how that had turned out. He wasn’t cut out for an everyday life: he hunted monsters, fought gods, and battled angels. What he had said to Sam all those years ago about hunting things, saving people being the family business was true but it was more like the family curse and there was no escaping it.

Dean shoved himself away from the sink and grabbed the scratchy, cream towel off the side of the bath. He rubbed at his face, some part of him relishing the feeling of the cheap material scratching against his skin. “Get a grip, Winchester,” he grumbled to himself. Right now, he needed to stop all this feeling sorry for himself; it wouldn’t get him anywhere and it sure as hell wouldn’t solve anything. 

Chucking the damp towel into the bath, Dean took a deep breath to ground himself before he yanked the bathroom door open to find his brother glaring angrily at the light-blue button-up he clutched in his hand. 

Dean huffed a breath as he stepped into the room, intent on finding out what had happened to put that expression on Sam’s face in the few minutes since he had been in the bathroom. 

Sam glanced up, his face changing to look sheepish, and his head tilting forward hiding himself behind his bangs. Dean heard him mutter, “Dammit,” under his breath as he tilted his head down, his gaze refusing to meet Dean’s. Clearly Sam had been hoping to get dressed without an audience. 

Dean took a step forward, moving to curl a hand around his brother’s bicep, while the other tugged the shirt from Sam’s hand, and huffed an irritated breath when Sam didn’t immediately let go of the material. Dean began to pull harder on the shirt; given that Sam was supposed to be the smart one he could be really stupid sometimes. 

Sam hissed in pain as the movement jerked his bad shoulder and Dean felt another brief stab of shame in his stomach over what they’d done last night and at having contributed to making Sam’s existing injury worse. 

Sam was the one who was supposed to have enough sense not to let Dean do these kinds of things. Sam was supposed to stop him, to say no to him, but Sam wasn’t wired that way anymore: these days the more it hurt, the better it was for Sam. And, even though Dean felt sickened by some of the things he did to his baby brother on a regular basis, he still could not give up the control he had over the younger man. Not yet, anyway. 

Once Sam’s arm was away from his body, and stretched out slightly, Dean moved slowly, carefully pulling the shirt up Sam’s arm and over his bad shoulder before moving round to his other side. Grasping Sam’s other wrist, Dean manoeuvred Sam’s arm until he could slip it into the shirt, before tugging the garment up and over Sam’s shoulders. Dean brushed his hands once against Sam’s back, still being careful to avoid Sam’s shoulder, before moving to stand in front of him. Dean began to do up the buttons quickly, not oblivious to the fact that this was the first time in a long time that he had been helping Sam into his clothes rather than tearing them off of him in a desperate need to get to the skin underneath. 

Dean’s hands stilled once he had slipped the final button into place, his fingers gently stroking against the ring of blotchy purple and yellow high around Sam’s neck. The collar of the dress shirt didn’t cover it and the suit jacket sure as hell wasn’t going to hide anything either. If Sam so much as stretched out to flip the pages of his note book the angry marks around his wrists would be in clear view, not to mention the slightest movement of his arm would have Sam wincing, no matter how many painkillers he took. 

In simple terms, Sam was a mess: he looked like he had spent the last few days having the crap beaten out of him, which wasn’t far from the truth, and though Dean was loath to admit it Sam wasn’t really in a fit state to be working a case right now. He also knew that the moment he mentioned it, Sam would go from docile to angry stubbornness in the blink of an eye. But if brooding Sam was the price Dean would have to pay to keep his brother safe he could live with it, he couldn’t risk Sam getting hurt even more than he already was.

Taking a deep breath, Dean let his hands fall back to his sides, as he gritted his jaw and looked back up at his brother, determined to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. 

“Sammy,” Dean began, figuring the lifelong nickname was a good way to start because that one word was always a sign that Dean cared. “I think maybe you should sit this one…” a loud bang on the motel room door cut Dean off. He turned his head quickly, away from the glare that had been forming on Sam’s face, to look at the door.

Dean felt his body go on alert, even as he told himself that it was probably nothing. He had lost count of the number of times he had gone to the door, gun in hand and ready to kick some monster’s ass, only to find no one there and the distinct sound of kids, or drunks, giggling as they disappeared around the corner. 

After waiting a moment or two, and with no further noise happening outside the room, Dean turned back to Sam, preparing himself for the argument that was undoubtedly coming his way but two swift bangs against the door stopped him in his tracks. Dean moved swiftly away from his brother and towards the door, reaching for the gun he had left on the bed. Dean clicked the safety off as he moved to hold the weapon out in front of him.

Dean glanced at his brother and jerked his head towards the door, knowing that Sam understood the gesture to mean ‘cover me’. With a quick nod, Sam grabbed his own gun and headed over to the other side of the door, positioning himself so that if it turned out they were about to get attacked, they would at least be able to get one up on the attacker. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean moved the curtain in the window next to the door before groaning and shoving himself away from the door, cussing gently under his breath as he clicked the safety back on and shoved his gun into the waistband at the back of his trousers. Glancing up at Sam, Dean shook his head at his brother’s inquisitive look and yanked the door open, glaring at the young women waiting for him on the other side. 

“What do you want?” he barked, shifting so he could block Hope’s view into the room.

Hope smiled widely at him, as she pushed off from where she had been leaning casually against the door frame, lifting up a brown paper bag and a cardboard tray with three Styrofoam cups in it. 

“Breakfast,” she chirped, as she shoved past him, effortlessly shouldering him out of the way so she could get into the room.

Gritting his teeth, Dean shut the door. He turned, ready to tell Hope to piss the hell off as politely as he could manage, but the words died on his lips. Hope was sitting on their bed with Sam sitting next to her and both of them smiling at one another as they divvied up the food. They looked almost like a couple, as she lifted the tray to offer Sam a cup and watched with an eager expression as Sam brought the cup to his lips. Sam’s eyes widened slightly as he swallowed. 

“Is that…” Sam took another quick sip of his coffee, savouring the taste before swallowing “…vanilla?” he asked.

Hope nodded enthusiastically as Sam took another swig of his drink. It was a rare thing these days for the Winchesters to go anywhere that served half-decent coffee, let alone that syrupy crap that Sam liked so much. Dean couldn’t even remember the last time he had had a cup of coffee that hadn’t tasted like dirt.

“Yeah,” Hope sighed, her voice already getting on Dean’s nerves. “That’s your favourite, right? Two sugars, one shot of vanilla syrup, and a splash of cream? I mean, that’s what you drink in those books so I just thought that was what you’d want but if it’s not then I can get you another one, it’s no prob…” 

Sam placed his hand on Hope’s upper arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her rambling stopping just as quickly as if Dean had crossed the room and shoved a sock in her mouth.   
“It’s perfect, thank you”, he said.

Hope tilted her head to look at Sam. They looked at each other for a moment, seeming to communicate via their eyes. “My pleasure,” she replied, a slight blush colouring her cheeks. 

Glaring at the ‘happy couple’ in front of him, Dean took a step forward going on the attack as resentment began seeping into his already metaphorically-overflowing cup of emotions. 

“Where the hell did you get coffee like that around this dump anyway?” he said gruffly. 

Over the brim of his cup, Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s unfriendly behaviour. His new best friend sat silently beside him, completely unaffected by Dean’s accusatory tone. 

Hope trained her smile on Dean as she answered, “Starbucks.” 

Quickly, Dean ran through the list of places they had passed in this small town on their way to the motel. Almost as if she knew what Dean was thinking, Hope offered up an explanation, cutting Dean off before he even got the chance to start questioning her. 

“I hotwired the manager’s car and drove to Springfield. Spent longer in the damned queue than I did the car. Want some?” she asked, as she held out the tray. 

Glancing at Sam, he caught his brother’s eye and regretted it instantly as he found himself subjected to a look telling him to ‘play nice’. Dean groaned and let his arms fall to his sides as he walked across the small space, reaching out to curl his fingers around the nearest cup, praying it was strong and black and nothing sugary like Sam’s. 

“Not that one,” Hope said, sharply, jerking the tray back as Dean’s fingers brushed against the Styrofoam. 

Raising an eyebrow at her questioningly, Dean’s misgivings began to rise again. If she had a problem with which one he took, why offer him a choice? Why not just hand him the cup she wanted him to take? 

“Sorry,” Hope mumbled, sheepishly. “That one’s mine. Don’t think you’d appreciate peppermint tea.”

Hope balanced the tray on her lap, lifted out the cup nearest to her, and held it towards him, smiling tentatively. It was only that he looked at her eyes that Dean saw the food for what it truly was: a peace offering. She wanted them, well more him than Sam, to give her a chance, and in his bad mood he was lashing out at her, whereas Sam was giving her the opportunity she wanted. 

Huffing out an exasperated breath Dean relaxed his rigid posture into a more normal stance. He still had his doubts about her but he supposed only time would tell. Smiling tightly, he reached out, mumbled a quick thanks and took the coffee. Hope grinned up at him and the almost subconscious feelings of tension seemed to seep out of the atmosphere. 

Hope pulled her own drink free, dropped the tray to the floor, and offered Sam the brown bag that had also been balancing on her lap. Dean watched, still not happy with the way his brother seemed so comfortable around Hope all of a sudden, as Sam pulled a plastic container from the bag that looked like a mess of pink gloop with brown flecks in it. No doubt some healthy thing Hope had read about him liking in those God awful books. 

Dean winced as Sam held out the bag towards him, unsure if he wanted to risk whatever rabbit food was waiting for him. Sam’s pointed look made Dean bite his tongue and shove his hand into the bag; the things he did for his brother. His fingers brushed against greaseproof paper and, if the smell matched what was inside the wrapper, there was something greasy and delicious waiting for him and….actually, he was feeling pretty hungry. 

He placed the coffee cup down on the bedside table and unwrapped the package, his stomach growling as the smell of bacon hit him. Deciding that Hope had already cooked for them once and they had all survived, Dean took a bite out of the warm roll, grunting his approval around a mouthful of bacon, sausage, and potato. It was good, really good   
actually, better than half the roadside crap he normally had and actually tasted like it was freshly cooked and hadn’t been sitting around under a heat lamp for a few hours.

Laughter pulled Dean from his appreciation of the food and back to the other two occupants in the room. Sam sat beside Hope, his thigh brushing hers, with a friendly smile tugging at his lips. Hope was looking at Sam, her smile evident even though it was hidden behind her cup.

Watching the two of them interacting, Dean felt a surprisingly strong surge of irritation wash through him. It felt to Dean like Hope was trying too hard to insinuate herself into their good graces. Yes, they were probably two of the best hunters in the States, and they knew a lot about things that Hope had probably never even heard of. And, though Dean was loath to admit it, Sam seemed to feel protective of the girl - in other, less dangerous, circumstances it might do Sam good to have someone around who needed his guidance and could give him something else to focus on other than his time in Hell - but was it really the right time for Sam to play teacher with Hope? She had too much to learn too soon…..Dean snapped out of his train of thought at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“You want some?” Sam offered, jiggling the paper bag at Hope slightly.

Taking one last sip of her tea, Hope glanced down at the cup in her hands. “No, thanks. I’ve already eaten,” she replied.

Shrugging his shoulders, Sam turned and offered the bag to Dean. Even though he knew that it irritated Sam when he acted bad-mannered in front of other people, Dean snatched the bag out of his brother’s hand, smirking at the exasperated look on Sam’s face. Dean moved to sit on the unoccupied bed, facing his brother and Hope. All three of them sat in silence for a few minutes, the mood in the room sitting somewhere on the cusp between awkward and comfortable as Dean bolted down the remains of one breakfast roll and moved onto the next. 

Dean started to feel bothered with the other two watching him eat but, just as he was about to start dishing out jobs that needed to be done, Hope spoke up, leaning forward to place her cup on the floor between her feet as she did. 

“So, I did some research,” she stated. “I managed to get the address of the teacher, Jason Kent, and the girl, Lydia Carter. But, unfortunately, the boy’s not in Illinois.” Yawning, she leaned back, her back cracking as she stretched her muscles, ignoring the expectant look in the brothers’ eyes as they waited for her to explain. 

“Where the hell is he?” Dean snapped. 

Sam shot him an irritated glare but Hope seemed not to notice the tone in Dean’s voice as she took the time to arch her back and roll her shoulders before she bothered to answer. 

“His parents had him sent to some specialist doctor in Switzerland.”

Dean swore, his annoyance giving way to anger. People rarely acted in a way that made his job easy but he could understand why the parents had sought the best help they could. Hell, if he had been in the same position as the kid’s parents: going to sleep with a son that was six foot tall, and built like the side of a barn, only to wake up and find him closer to five foot and as skinny as a rake; he would have called every doctor whose number he could get his hands on until he found someone who believed they could help. But, unfortunately for the parents, if Hope was right, something supernatural had sunk its claws into the kid and the family’s only hope was if the Winchesters managed to find the thing that had done it.

“How’d you find all that stuff out?” Dean asked, his tone somewhere between accusation and interest. 

Hope shifted her gaze over to him, her smile never faltering as she spoke. “It’s amazing what you can find on the internet these days.”

Dean smiled tightly back at her, her voice irritating him with its cheerfulness. He pushed himself off the bed, half-heartedly chucking his wrapper towards the wastepaper bin, his coffee forgotten on the table. “We’ll start with the girl, she’ll probably be the easiest one to get anything out of,” he stated, grabbing the car keys off the bedside table as he headed towards the motel room door.

Pausing at the door, fingers lightly curled around the handle, Dean turned to look back at his brother, weighing up his options. Sam couldn’t go with him, that was for sure: Sam’s shoulder was too badly injured and, though Dean was loath to admit it, it looked like Hope might come in useful sooner than he thought. Sam wouldn’t like what he was about to suggest but, at the moment, it was the only thing that came to mind. 

The room’s other two occupants were looking at Dean: heads both tilted to the side, foreheads furrowed in thought. It was uncanny, how similar they could be, and his sluggish mind finally pieced together a few of the little things that had been bugging him since first meeting Hope. All those things that had been familiar yet completely strange: she reminded him of Sam, from the colour of her hair to the way she spoke, even how she interacted with people. 

Dean hated the idea of Hope being a long-lost Winchester and he clung to the thought that she was roughly the same age as Sam and John had been a happily-married family man in those days, as far as Dean knew. Then again, John had never even bothered to mention Adam to either of his older sons. So, was it possible they might have a sister their father had kept secret? Maybe this was the simple answer to the unsettling mix of distrust and ease that went hand in hand with Hope. After all, Dean had felt almost exactly the same around Adam, though the distrust had outweighed any kind of kinship he had felt towards Adam. 

Coughing to break the silence, Dean tried to shove his suspicions about Hope’s parentage to one side and do his best to ignore the picture Sam and Hope made, instead he forced himself to focus on the immediate threat. 

“You got any formal clothes?” he asked Hope, keeping his eyes on her to avoid the way Sam’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what Dean was up to. 

Hope sat up straighter, working to hide her surprise. “Sure,” she replied. 

“Got any ID? F.B.I.? ” 

Hope nodded, her eyes briefly darting towards Sam, before directing her gaze back towards Dean. 

Dean yanked the door open, stepping back as he did so. “Go get ready then,” he stated, jerking his head towards the open doorway. 

Hope sat there for a few moments in silence, looking at Dean, uncertainty evident in her body language. And, to be honest, Dean was also a little thrown by what was happening; nothing seemed to be going how he had imagined it would. Letting Hope tag along with him was not something he had imagined agreeing to, again. 

“Well? C’mon if you’re coming; we ain’t got all day,” he barked, using his best drill-sergeant voice, the one he learned from John when Sam was still young enough to respect the tone. 

Hope snapped out of whatever daze she had been in, her eyes widening slightly. “Yeah, yes,” she responded, as she got up and moved towards the door. As she was passing Dean in the doorway, she stopped, standing close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off of her. “I’ll see you in a few,” she said softly, with just a hint of worry in her tone as she glanced back at Sam. 

Dean gave her a curt nod, unwilling to look at his brother at that moment because he knew Sam would have figured it all out and was waiting for the moment Hope was gone so he could make his case, demanding not to be left behind. 

Hope headed back towards her own room and Dean stayed where he was until he heard her door click shut then, with a heavy sigh, he pushed their room door closed; it was better to do this with some sort of privacy. He didn’t need the whole place hearing this argument, and he really didn’t want Hope to hear but that was likely to be unavoidable, what with the walls in these places being so thin. 

“Dean…” 

Dean tried not to flinch at the frustration in his brother’s voice. He should have been used to it by now, especially after the way their lives had been these last few years, but Sam still got to him like no-one else ever could. 

“Don’t,” he snapped, cutting Sam off before they both went too far and said something that both of them would later regret. That one word held all the authority Dean had over his brother, outside of the bedroom. Which, if Dean really thought about it, wasn’t a lot.

Turning to look at his brother, Dean took a step forward. Sam’s arms were against his sides, hands clenched into fists. Trying to head off the worst of it, Dean spoke quickly, “Don’t you even try and tell me you’re okay, Sammy. You can’t put your shirt on without help let alone defend yourself.” 

They both knew that Sam wasn’t fit to hunt right now and Dean didn’t want to risk putting him in unnecessary danger. “I can get Hope to help me interview witnesses,’ he said, “and I need you to go to the library, see if you can find out if anything like this has happened before.”

They stood facing each other: Dean, silently begging Sam not to try and get out of research and Sam, wordlessly trying to get Dean to change his mind. Both Winchesters were stubborn men and, in better circumstances, they could probably do this all day, but, after a few more moments, Sam huffed out an annoyed sigh and sat back down on the bed, silently reaching for his abandoned coffee cup and refusing to look anywhere near Dean. 

Knowing they didn’t have the time right now, Dean fought the urge to try and bring Sam’s mood around. Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, he turned and walked into the bathroom, taking Sam’s silence as an indication of tension stored up for later. 

When he’d changed into his suit and came back into the bedroom, Sam had already left. As Dean locked the door to his room, he shot the door next to theirs an angry look. The moment they had set eyes on Hope, he had felt she would cause trouble. He should have just left her at the side of the road but it was too late now, decisions had been made and the damage done. He could only hope that it wouldn’t cause any more harm to his relationship with Sam.

~*~

“Man, that girl would not shut up,” Dean groused, as they drove towards their next interview. He had not enjoyed talking to that particular witness, in fact he had had to struggle hard to stop himself from yelling at her to shut the hell up. The only reason he had restrained himself was Hope; with a few pointed looks and some choice words that had left the teen blushing, Hope had managed to bring the interview to an end just as his patience was about to give. Dean pulled the car into a parking spot and hoped this next interview went less annoyingly.

“She liked you, she was trying to get you to stay a little bit longer,” Hope shot back at him, as she got out of the car.

Dean closed the car door and leaned forward against the side of the impala, arms resting on the roof and head resting on his arms, as he desperately tried to push away the feeling of the girl’s hands running up and down his arm. 

When she had touched him, Dean had moved round to the end of the hospital bed, putting Hope firmly between him and the witness. It hadn’t stopped her from flirting with him for all she was worth though, which had left Dean with a sour feeling in his stomach because she was sixteen and he was old enough to be her father. A fact that Hope had pointed out several times since with wide, mocking smiles. 

“Yeah, well, she’s lucky I have morals,” Dean snapped, looking up to glare at Hope, who was grinning at him for all she was worth.

Pushing herself away from the car, where she had been mirroring Dean’s stance, Hope turned to walk up the sidewalk, heading towards a large house a few doors up. “Oh, so it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you’re currently sleeping with a six foot something hottie then,” Hope commented, over her shoulder. 

Dean hurried after her, denial ready on his lips as he came stand beside her. 

Hope interrupted him before he could speak, “Listen, don’t worry about it.” She held up her hands in mock surrender, as she turned and began to make her way up the steps to the house. 

She had looked at Dean as though she felt compassion for every worry and thought of self-hate and guilt that lurked at the back of his mind and Dean hated it. He hated feeling this exposed to a virtual stranger and there was only one person in his life that he needed understanding from.

“I’m really in no position to judge you, trust me,” Hope muttered, as she shoved her hand through her hair, something Dean had come to realise in the last few days was more of a nervous habit than a real necessity. “Half-brother,” she explained, unenthusiastically, shooting Dean a worried glance out of the corner of her eyes. 

Dean jerked slightly, not having expected that information. 

As they reached the porch, both of them coming to a stop in front of the door, Hope continued quickly, “It’s complicated and tedious,” she said, waving her hand dismissively and silencing anything Dean had been about to say. “What I’m trying to say is I really don’t care about what you and Sam do. Love has no boundaries and all that jazz.”

Dean stared at her. Despite her admission, on no level was he okay with her prying into his relationship with Sam or liking the moment of sharing she was trying to force on him. “Me and Sam is none of your business,” he said angrily, folding his arms across his chest.

Flinching almost imperceptibly at his tone, Hope stood for a moment before moving to ring the doorbell. “Just saying is all,” she responded, voice calm and controlled as though she were talking about the weather and not incest. She kept her eyes fixed on the door as she reached into her inside pocket, pulling out her fake badge, ready to flash it the moment someone came to the door. 

Dean turned to face the door as well, pulling out his own ID. God he hoped this conversation was over. 

“I didn’t want you or Sam to feel uncomfortable,” she continued, “especially if we are going to be spending a lot of time together, Dean.” 

Dean clenched his jaw in response to her statement. They were doing this one job with her and, as soon as it was over, he was leaving her ass somewhere in Iowa and that would, hopefully, be the last time they ever laid eyes on Hope Wesson. There would be no next time.

Before he had the chance to voice his opinion, the front door opened, a pale face just viewable in the dark gap between door and frame. 

Hope offered up a reassuring smile. “Hello, Mr Kent?” she asked, tone gentle and encouraging. 

The man nodded slightly, the action more of an instinctive jerk of his head than an actual acknowledgment of Hope’s question. Unfazed by the man’s lack of response, Hope continued to smile sweetly at the half hidden shadow. 

She lifted her badge, holding it out towards the man. Neither she nor Dean missed the way the man flinched slightly at the movement. Hope inclined her head towards the badge, her gaze steady as she spoke. “I’m Agent Croft with the FBI and this is my partner, Agent Hardy. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions. Can we come in?”

Dean watched Hope: she was a lot like Sam in the way she interacted with witnesses, she had that air of intense sincerity. Dean knew that with Sam that sincerity came more from Sam’s desire to help people than it did from his life-taught ability to lie convincingly. With Hope, Dean wasn’t sure what her motivation was. Offering up his own ‘sincere’ smile, Dean flashing his fake ID at Kent before slipping it back into his jacket pocket. 

The man’s eyes darted from Dean to Hope than back again, it was obvious he was trying to figure out a way to avoid letting them into his house. 

“I promise we’ll only take a few minutes of your time,” Hope said, reassuringly. 

Dean watched as Hope locked gazes with Kent, a silent conversation seeming to happen between them as Hope smiled all the while. The man stepped back slightly, nodding his head as he moved into the darkened hallway, opening the door just wide enough so they could walk past him into the house. 

Dean followed Hope into the house, his eyes lingering on the nervous man hiding behind the door as if the wood was a shield. 

As soon as they were clear of the front door, Kent shut it hastily. Disliking the small space and dim lighting, Dean shifted, his relaxed stance tensing as one hand slipped under his jacked and shirt, fingers wrapping around his gun, just in case.

“This way,” Kent muttered, sparing them nervous look, and Dean watched warily as the guy walked through an open door at the end of the hall. 

Hope turned to look at Dean, inclining her head towards the door in an “after you” motion. Her eyes shining with excitement as though this was all some sort of game. And maybe it was to her, it had been to Dean too, years ago before everything that had happened to him and Sam. He remembered how much he had enjoyed the thrill of fooling people successfully to get what he needed. Maybe Hope was still at that stage of being a hunter and it reminded Dean of how things had changed so much for him, maybe that was why she irritated him so strongly.

Without waiting for a response, Hope headed towards the door, her footsteps making little noise on the wooden floor. Still keeping hold of his gun, Dean walked after her: just because he didn’t entirely trust her didn’t mean he wanted to be responsible for her getting hurt. 

Dean squinted as he stepped into the living room, his eyes having adjusted to the dimness of the hallway. The walls were a warm colour and large windows showed a well-maintained back yard with flowers and an apple tree. The open-plan kitchen area had granite worktops and chrome appliances. From the furniture and décor, it was clear to see that this teacher wasn’t short of money.

Kent stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, eyes cast down and bandaged hands fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater. Dean finally got a good look at the man: he was no more than thirty with pale skin and short dark hair that was messy and sticking up at odd angles. He was tall, probably the same height as Dean if not a little taller. Everything about him was slender, maybe even feminine, from his long eyelashes, and slight build, to delicate-looking wrists and slender fingers. Dean thought the man was handsome but in a wearied sort of way. Currently, the most noticeable thing about Kent was the way he seemed determined to make himself look smaller than he really was, he seemed to be trying to hide. 

“Mr Kent,” Hope said, inclining her head slightly towards the group of plush-looking furniture, “shall we sit?”

The man nodded his head and moved to seat himself in a midnight-blue armchair, huddling into it as if it could protect him from what was about to come. 

Hope took the seat closest to the armchair, a seriousness seeming to take over her mood as she took out a notebook and pen. The man’s expression tensed as soon as he saw the pad. 

Hope spoke, taking the lead now where she had been content to let Dean take point at the hospital, “I know this may be hard, Mr Kent, but we need to ask you some questions about your attack.” She spoke softly, her tone and demeanour designed to put him at ease. 

“I don’t…I can’t really…remember much,” the young man said, stumbling over his words as he tried to make himself look even smaller. 

Hope smiled, relaxing back into the sofa, her whole demeanour open and inviting. “That’s fine,” Hope responded, in a soothing tone, “just tell me what you do remember. In your own time.” 

Kent glanced nervously at where Dean was standing, so Dean took the few short steps to the sofa and sat down. He tried to put Kent at ease by smiling as he spoke, “Why don’t you start at the beginning. Anything you remember is sure to be a help.”

The man shifted slightly in the chair as he refused to look at them. It was hard to tell if Kent was really terrified or if he knew something and he just didn’t want to say. Growing impatient with the man’s caginess, Dean decided to move things along a little. “You were at the school?” he asked slightly tersely. 

Two sets of eyes turned towards him: Jason Kent looking panicky, like he was unsure how to respond to Dean’s straightforward behaviour, and Hope frowning disapprovingly at him. 

“Yeah…I mean, yes,” Kent’s quiet voice regained Hope’s attention and she turned back towards the apprehensive teacher, her frown disappearing. 

“It said in the police report that you’d stayed late to work on some papers?” As Hope spoke, she glanced down at her notebook and missed Kent flinch as if just the reminder of what had happened was physically threatening.

Kent’s behaviour confirmed for Dean that the teacher had definitely seen something that had terrified him. 

“The police report also states that the attack happened around 8pm. Could you tell us about the time leading up to it?” Hope asked gently. 

Kent seemed to sink further into himself, shaking his head in silent refusal. He appeared determined to shove anything to do with his attack to the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, where he would never see them again. 

Narrowing her eyes ever so slightly, Hope shifted forward to sit at the edge of the seat, laying her notepad to one side. “Please,” she asked, reaching across and gently placing her hand on the man’s knee.

Kent’s eyes darted to where Hope’s hand lay. He looked confused, almost like he couldn’t figure out how it had gotten there in the first place.

“I know this is hard, Jason, but please look at me,” Hope pleaded with a hint of demand. Kent’s head moved dreamily, to look directly at her. “It would be extremely helpful for us to get a better understanding of what happened.”

“I…” 

Hope nodded her head in encouragement and a look of determination bloomed on Kent’s face. 

“It was a normal night,” he said, quietly.

Hope moved back into her seat with a frustrated huff of air, her hand slipping off Jason’s knee slowly, fingertips dragging gently across the light denim of his jeans. 

Throwing a quick look Dean’s way to warn him to stay quiet, Hope hummed in encouragement, picking her pad up, ready to record anything of use.

Kent continued, his voice quiet but more steady, “I stay late, sometimes, to make sure I’m ready for the next day so I won’t have to run around too much in the mornings. My senior class had just handed in their term papers on Dracula, so I thought I’d get a head start on grading them.” The words fell from his lips quickly in his desperation to get them out. 

None of this information was new, the police report had said as much and it wasn’t that unusual for a teacher to stay after school was finished. 

“Everything was fine and then…” Kent stopped, his eyes going unfocused as he pictured events in his mind’s eye. “Whatever it was, it came out of nowhere,” he whispered. 

“something slammed into me and I was against the wall and…” he sucked in a shaky breath, “and my hands, they were burning.” Kent stared down at his hands that, during the conversation, he had lifted up slightly, holding them out in front of him. 

“So much blood,” he muttered. He starred at his bandaged hands as they began to shake. It was clear to see that he was lost in his own mind, as he remembered what had happened that night.

Kent’s incredibly strong physical reaction to recalling the traumatic event made Dean suspect that they would be unable to get much more useful information out of him.

“It must be difficult.”

Kent’s gaze locked onto Hope, as she spoke, his hands falling back to his lap.

“Working with teenagers,” she continued. “You being not much older than the kids you’re teaching.” Hope smiled as she went on, “Plus, you’re a good-looking guy, that must have made your classes pretty popular.”

“I…um…I mean…I…” Kent stumbled over his words before regaining composure. “There have been one or two, incidences, over the years but I would never have an inappropriate relationship with one of my students.” His voice had a sharp defensive edge to it, his eyes narrowing slightly to glare at hope. 

“I would never suggest such a thing,” Hope interrupted, silencing him with a quirk of her lips.

“What I mean to stay, Mr Kent, is that I understand that you may have developed close” she paused, as though searching for an appropriate word, “friendships, with some of these kids and, from what the police reports show, it’s obvious that they not only like you but they trust you as well.”

Kent nodded curtly at her words looking a little too shifty for Dean’s liking. Maybe this teacher wasn’t so squeaky clean after all. 

“Some of those kids have tough home lives,” Kent responded, “they don’t need another adult pressuring them.” He spoke with conviction, actually looking relaxed for the first time since they had got there. 

Hope nodded in agreement as she shifted forward in her seat once more. “It’s clear to see how much you care for your students but what you must understand is that, until the person who attacked you is caught, we have to assume that not only is each and every one of those kids a suspect but that they could be in danger too.”

Dean watched as Jason Kent froze, his posture rigid and his face draining of colour. 

Hope continued, “It’s important that we know everything, no matter how small or impossible it may seem. It could be the one thing that blows this case wide open. Please, Mr Kent...Jason…help us find the person responsible before they hurt someone else, or worse.”

The room fell into silence as Hope’s words hung heavy in the air. The implication of her words seeming to weigh on Jason Kent’s shoulders as he slumped back into his chair once more. 

After about five minutes of silence, Dean began to shift in his seat. Hope had made a good attempt but it was increasingly looking like it hadn’t worked. Dean began mentally working his way through the list of other people they could interview when Kent took a deep breath.

“Cheerleaders,” Kent mumbled. 

Dean leaned forward in his seat. “Cheerleaders?” he asked, what the hell was that supposed to mean?

“I thought it was them, at first,” Kent said, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked tired and haggard but most of all he looked defeated, ready to finally give up whatever little detail had been weighing him down. 

“The gym’s near my classroom and sometimes they leave the doors open when they practice in the evenings. You can hear them laughing and talking, and there’s usually music playing in the background. It’s why I didn’t notice it at first.”

“Notice what?” Dean said impatiently, when Kent didn’t continue and Hope made no attempt to get the information out of him. 

Sighing, the teacher lent forward, arms on his knees, head hanging down. “The laughing. It wasn’t the cheerleaders, it was…” his voice caught and he paused to take a deep breath. “It was coming from inside the classroom across the hall. I got up to see what was going on but there was no-one there. Next thing I knew, I was slamming into the whiteboard and my pens were pushing through my hands, all on their own.” The last part was whispered with a glassy look in his eyes.

The man fell into silence once more.

Hope stood and looked down at Kent with a reassuring expression. Quickly, Dean got to his feet, more than a little irritated that Hope had so abruptly decided the interview was over without consulting him. 

“Thank you, Mr Kent, you’ve given us a lot to think about,” she said. 

Nodding, Jason Kent gestured vaguely towards the door, as though he knew he should get up to see them out but didn’t have the energy to move. His face crumpled as though he was about to burst into tears. 

“We can show ourselves out,” Dean said, not feeling like he wanted to stick around if the guy was going to start crying.

“Agent Croft?” 

“Yes, Mr Kent?” Hope replied. 

Wringing his hands, Jason stuttered out his words, “I…there was a woman, I’m sure of it. In the doorway, but I couldn’t tell you what she looked like. It was so dark.” His head tilted forward as he looked down at his bandaged hands. 

A fleeting expression crossed Hope’s face and she reached into her inside pocket, as she took a step towards the teacher. She held out her arm, a small white card between her fingers.

“This is my personal number, Mr Kent. If you remember anything more about what happened that night, please give me a call.”

Slowly, the young man looked up and took the card Hope was proffering, he nodded his head in understanding.

Hope walked quickly into the hallway and towards the front door. Nodding his head in a wordless goodbye, Dean hurried after her, catching up just as she stepped through the front door. Pulling the door closed behind him, Dean hurried down the steps until he was walking next to Hope. The girl could move when she wanted to, it was kind of impressive not that he would admit that out loud. 

“That’s it?” Dean asked, angrily. “Interview’s over when you say it is?” 

Hope shrugged, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “We weren’t going to get any more out of him and I could tell the likelihood of tears was making you uncomfortable,” she challenged, a playful glint in her eyes. 

“I might have had a few things I wanted to ask the guy,” Dean responded.

Hope pulled the car door open. “Sure,” she said, sarcastically. 

Dean frowned. “What the hell does that…” he barked. 

Hope cut across him. “Lydia…she was a cheerleader right?” she asked, brow scrunched in concentration. She reminded Dean of Sam when he got an idea, almost like a dog with a bone. 

“Yeah, so?” he spat. 

“Wasn’t that boy, the footballer, dating a cheerleader?” she said, looking at him expectantly, waiting for his thoughts to change track. 

The pieces clicked into place in Dean’s mind. He yanked the driver’s side door open and seated himself behind the steering wheel as he spoke, “We’ll pick Sam up at the library, head back to the motel, and take another look at the files.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Hope chimed in agreement. However, just as she was moving to seat herself, she froze and her eyes narrowed as she looked at one of the houses across the street from them. 

Frowning, Dean turned to look too, searching the run of well-manicured lawns and white fronted houses but unable to see anything that seemed out of place. Huffing in exasperation at further evidence of Hope’s general strangeness, Dean called out to her before slamming his door shut, “You coming?” 

Hope jerked, an uneasy look on her face. “Yeah,” she mumbled as she sat down and pulled the door closed. 

Dean watched her as she tugged at her seatbelt, her eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead. 

“You good?” he asked, warily. 

“Yep” Hope replied, nodding her head as she spoke, popping the p.

Unsure of what was going on with her, Dean shrugged the last ten seconds off and put the key in the ignition. They had a case to work, they could deal with Hope’s quirks after they had figured out what was going on with the people in this town. At least they knew something now that all three people had in common: apart from being at the same school, that was. They were making headway and that was always a good thing. A break in the case, that wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? 

~*~

As the car pulled away, the sound of the chugging engine lessening with distance, Castiel stepped out from the side of the house behind which he had been standing for the past half hour. He watched the sleek, black car as it moved down the road and disappeared around the corner. 

He leaned back against the house, grunting in pain. He ached to his very core, the pain worsening as he felt Hope slipping further and further away from him. It wasn’t a feeling he wanted to experience but it was constant and had been ever since he had said what was meant to be his final goodbye to Hope. 

He hadn’t followed the plan, instead he had followed Hope, ever since she left Sioux Falls, watching everything and everyone she did. He was supposed to have left when he had the chance, but he hadn’t. He had stood, watching the portal as it shrank in size, telling himself that Hope would be okay if he left her to cope on her own here. 

Hope was a good hunter and, despite the hell her life had been, she wanted to be a good person. Castiel knew that she would not abandon the task at hand. She had already sacrificed too much not to go through with it. But, in the end, to his surprise, he had found himself unable to walk away from her, to imagine a life without her in it. And when the Winchesters had arrived, he had slipped into the shadows as the portal oozed shut, trapping him in the past. A past he would rather have forgotten. 

So, trapped, and alone, in a time and place in which he had no desire to be, Castiel’s mind searched for a solution. 

Briefly, he considered looking for an alternative way to return to his own time but only the darkest magic would get him back and that kind of power always came with a price. He had seen that kind of spell first hand, he knew the price it asked. So he did the only other thing he could think of and followed Hope, trying to stick as close to her as he could without being detected. 

There had been moments when he wished that he had just gone back; he had seen some of the things she had done in the short amount of time she had been here. And though he could feel his power returning, he was still weak, almost as weak as a human, and there was nothing he could do that would alter the choices she faced: Hope had to eat, had to keep her power up if she was going to complete her task. 

Sighing Castiel shoved a hand through his hair. His shoulder-length hair was peppered with white, just one of the signs that his vessel was ageing. Hope had told him once that it made him look more distinguished, handsome. Personally, he couldn’t grasp how his vessel nearing its end made it more desirable. When he had voiced this concern to Hope, she had patted his cheek with an affection she would never normally show and, with a gentle kiss against his other cheek, she had whispered for him never to change. 

Taking a step out from behind the house, he hurried down the sidewalk, shoving his hands deep into his coat-pockets. The cold wind whipped around him, ruffling his hair and seeping through his thin cotton top and jeans, chilling him to the bone. He had almost forgotten how cold this world could be, he had gotten so used to the constant, intense heat of his time that the passing of seasons felt like nothing more than a fairy tale. He would have to acquire some new clothes and soon, before his vessel had the chance to freeze.

Castiel glanced down every side entrance of every house he passed until finally he saw a line full of washing hanging out to dry. Stopping in front of the house, he saw no sign of people inside and there was no car parked in the drive to suggest anyone was around. He looked about himself, to make sure he was alone. He knew stealing was a sin but he had done much worse things over the last few decades: murder, torture, and blasphemy to name but a few.

Theft was nothing new to him but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a residual pang of conscience when he did something his Father would disapprove of. 

Castiel started forward up the driveway. He had done worse and would likely do much worse again; his Father would never welcome him back now, not with all the blood he had on his hands, so a little theft was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Grabbing the gate that blocked the entrance to the back yard, Castiel jumped over it, landing on the tiled ground with a dull thud. He could deal with the consequences of his actions later when he could actually find it in himself to care what God thought of him once more.


End file.
